Oh em gee, guys.
OH EM GEE!
Remember when I shared with you all my insane (yet completely rational) fear of the gas light and how The Remix consistently refuses to consider my previous running-out-of-gas experience and ridiculously high level of anxiety because he insists that there's an extra-secret reserve tank which means that he can drive forever and ever without fear of sputtering to a stop?
Would you like to guess what happened yesterday?
Yup, you got it - The Remix ran out of gas.
Repeat: THE REMIX RAN OUT OF GAS!
(Side Note: I wasn't in the car so we're still married.)
He was driving home on the highway when, about ten minutes from our house, he noticed that the cruise control "stopped working." Approximately three second later, the gas pedal also "stopped working," which is when he looked at the gas bar and saw that it was below the red line.
Repeat: BELOW THE RED LINE.
Luckily, he was at an exit and managed to get halfway along before the car konked out completely. Luckier still, the exit was right next to a gas station so he didn't have to walk far. And to his credit, he said that he was laughing the whole time because he couldn't wait to get home and tell me.
In fact, he said that he decided not to call and tell me during his little stroll because he wanted to see the expression on my face. Which I'm guessing was something like this:
Equal parts Britney and Demi
And what did he say when he walked in the door, about half an hour late due to his Gas Walk of Shame?
Babe, do I have a blog posting for you!
Best. Intro. Ever.
Only time will tell if this experience will change The Remix's view on running out of gas, but for now, I'm just working on not gloating too badly. As you can read, it's not going well.
That said, at least I'm not doing this:
So I get a couple of bonus points for that, right?