On Wednesday morning I left for work with a huge smile on my face. I got in my car and began my short trip to the Presidio, loving the sunlight and daydreaming about plenty of things. Then suddenly my car began to slow down, and I realized… I really needed gas. Oops.
After an embarrassing call to AAA for roadside assistance I decided I needed to share this little incident with someone… so I called my Dad. I explained that I swore I had only gone a few miles since my gas light went on and that I thought I had at least 15 miles to go. He couldn’t stop laughing, saying over and over that he felt like he failed at one of his fatherly duties. Then he told me a story:
“This is sounding weirdly familiar. I have only run out of gas twice in my life, and the first time it ever happened was when I was in college. I borrowed your Mom’s car and saw that she was low on gas, but she insisted that she had at least 30 miles to go. 5 miles later, I ran out of gas. I think this must be a genetic thing, huh? Like mother, like daughter.”
I sure do love y’all, Mom(s) and Dad(s).
