...lots of stupidity ensues.

I really hate putting gas in the car. Whether I hate it because when the kids are little babies they scream their heads off while the car is stopped, or if it has to do with memories of gasing up at -40, or if there is another reason all together, I'm not sure. But I do tend to put off the evil day and ignore the values my parents tried to instill of always having at least a half a tank of gas in the car. Not that I usually try to wean it, mind you, but I often don't break down and go to the gas station until the gauge is at a quarter tank or so. When the empty light came on last night, I knew I'd been ignoring the gas just a bit too long and something would have to be done.

This morning, the Girl and I pulled into the gas station, I got out my wallet, popped the gas tank opener thingie and walked around to the pump. Only to stare dumbly at my van for few seconds before realizing that unlike every other automobile I've ever owned, this one has the tank on the other side. I jumped back into the van, swung around the pumps and pulled up on the correct side.

I got out, got ready to feed the car and realized that I'd parked so far back from the pump that the hose wouldn't reach. I had to get back in the car, restart it (because of course the car was on a slight incline and I couldn't just roll it forward), drive forward 4 feet and finally fill it up. In the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that I also parked so close to the pump that, with my extended ninth month of pregnancy girth, getting in and out was a challenge.

While I admit to having enough pregnancy brain at this point that my license should probably be revoked, at least I know all the people stopped at the extremely busy intersection had something to laugh about. I'm doing my part to make America laugh.