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Health & Fitness

Zero Miles 'till Empty 'Mom'ory.....fill 'er up!

My new list of errands before a trip: bank for snack money, store for ice and coffee, GAS STATION (or we're going nowhere fast)!

I love my car. I love the features it has. There are two DVD players, a hard drive, and doors that open with the push of a button. It even has a table for the kids to play games on. Somewhere on the panel, I can scroll through the menu to see how many miles until empty, but, with a car full of kids, who is going to do that? Do you know one thing my car doesn't have? A little voice that comes through the speakers to say, 'Oh, honey, don't even try to squeak another drop of gas out of me. I can't go one...more...foot.' Instead, somewhere between exits 65 and 64, I feel sluggish. Is it me? I had a long day with friends and kids at the beach. I am in the car, clad in a wet bathing suit, kids filling every seat but the one my friend occupies next to me. We talk, we laugh, I let the kids eat ices and chips in the back. Wait: is it the car? Yes. The gas light had been on since we started our journey home (actually, even before then, but don't tell), and I did have it in the back of my mind. We even said something to each other about filling up soon. In a few moments, the car begins to shut down on the highway and I lose control of my power steering, all the while saying, 'Am I actually running out of gas?' I manage to glide off an exit ramp and come to a stop in a grassy area off the road, with only a moment to spare. I put my hazards on, roll down the windows, have a good laugh with my friend, and wait for my knight in shining armour to arrive (aka husband, who, by the way, does not think this is as funny as I think it is). The kids have a great time, at first, eating all the leftover food from the coolers. Then they want their TV back on, and music, and air conditioning. My wet bathing suit mixes with the sweat dripping off of me and I stick to my seat almost immediately as the last drop of cool air escapes. I begin to feel like fermenting trash on the side of the road. How could I let this happen? My car sits, like an exhausted camel that's transported a family through a desert. I apologize to it and think I should give him a name. And, yes, it's a male. A female car would've never run out of gas, even if she had none left. So, I will add my car to the list of people and things I need to take care of, remembering it needs food, or fuel, to function. The kicker in all of this, though: another friend emails me that night wondering if it was me that her husband saw on the side of the road. What?! I write her back asking if her husband always leaves a damsel in distress. It was just as well, though. My knight came, gas can in hand, shortly after. The kids got a kick out of seeing their daddy save them and their precious air conditioning. They made it home with another summer memory and story for their first day of school.

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