kink

I’d finished paying for the gas. I’d checked the lotto ticket I’d bought on my birthday (still broke). I bought a new lotto ticket in hopes I won’t be broke later. I’d walked to my car, muttering something derogatory about the fat person that couldn’t seem to figure out how get through the door and get out of my way. I’d turned the key, put the car in drive and got on my way. I heard a loud ‘Thunk!’ I had that horrible feeling (the same one I’d had when I ran into the McDonald’s building when I was sixteen). I turned around, sure I had somehow hit car beside me. There was no car beside me. I pulled over to the closest parking spot to look at the side of my car—certain I had figured out a way to hit he side of the gas tank fillers (just realized I have no idea what those are called…). There was no dent. However, my gas cap was off and still flopped open. I’d driven off with the gas nozzle (?) still inserted in my car (kinky). All the millions I’d envisioned winning flashed through my mind as I saw them going to pay for a new gas filler-upper-thingy, or worse for a new gas station as it exploded from all the gas that was spewing over the area. As I rushed over to the station I had occupied, my heart began to slow. There was no gas gushing, no ripped out hose, even the little spigot (did you know that is the right word for spicket—it seems spicket isn’t even a word, who knew?) was in its original shape. I picket the gas SPIGOT off the ground and inserted it back into it’s little home (kinky). Not glancing around, in case someone had seen, I rushed back to my car and took off, muttering how life just sucks and how I was as stupid as the fat person that couldn’t get through the door.

Actually, I believe this was the same day that I dropped the remote on my nose.

Today, I actually think it is all pretty funny.