Another One of Those Times Where I've Burned Off More Than a Few Calories Laughing

Eddie and I were driving home Wednesday evening, just about to turn into the driveway, when I look at my gas gauge and make a proud declaration:

"I got gas on my way home from work."

You see, I HATE getting gas. I HATE stopping for anything when I'm driving. I am usually running late whenever I leave wherever I' m coming from to get wherever I'm going. Not only do I hate to stop, I don't have time to stop. I'm not stopping. This never-leave-on-time habit (attitude) I've developed, I know, is not a healthy one as it often necessitates that I speed.

I've tried to leave early, early enough to have some spare time when I arrive. That time doesn't exist if you don't leave early ENOUGH. How early is that? You could keep pushing your departure time back and back until all of a sudden you've left TOO early. I'm not into too early. I don't like it. When you're too early, what do you have to do? WAIT. What is waiting? It's stopping. That's what it is. Stopping. I HATE stopping. I want to do, go, be, get, walk, run, act.

I suppose it could be a control issue. Being late (or almost late) is all on my terms. Being early is having to contort myself to fit someone else's schedule. Or maybe I'm just late. I haven't decided.

Pointing out to my husband that I have gotten gas that day is code for begging for praise for doing something that I shouldn't need praise for doing. He usually abides and offers a "That's good, Sparky." or an "Excellent.", but not this time. This time his response was an unusual:

"Aw."

I did a double take. I didn't understand what he didn't understand. Then it registered. In his boy world, I had gotten gas on my way home from work. Uncomfortable, stinky gas, not expensive, stinky gas. When we both realized what had happened, I got my affirmation and we both got a great laugh. I love stopping to laugh with my husband. He rocks.