At Least I Wasn't Wearing My Pole Dancing Outfit


Last Saturday, I ran out of gas, literally. This is the type of thing that should not happen to a fully functional adult, but there you are. I pushed the yellow light with two trips downtown and one small trip to the soccer field. One roll of the dice too many.

Early Saturday morning, we'd raced to my daughter's last soccer game with not a minute to spare for gas. Or so I thought.
But the game was starting late and I wanted one more cup of coffee. So, I grabbed the car and started for the bakery--not the gas station. Good priorities.

Almost immediately my car started losing power. I turned into a parking lot for the pizza shop and was able to roll into a spot before it died.

Darn.

I was out of gas. I laughed my head off at the ridiculousness of the situation. The "I told you so" from my husband would just be too much. I figured I had an hour to solve this problem on my own if I wanted to keep it secret. (And I sorta did.) I thought of calling a friend but that would be too much of an imposition. The police could probably help, they always help when I have a dead battery. But that felt too much like being a helpless damsel in distress. Not cool.

So I got out of the car and walked a mile to home. I grabbed our other car and a gas can from the garage. After a shot-gun-like race to the gas station, I filled the little can. I sped back to my car and filled it. Hid the gas can in a shopping bag and raced for the end of the game.

I made it before the game was over. All in all, a task that would normally take ten minutes took me about an hour. I felt like a moron. And my secret was discovered. First of all I had the second car to retrieve. My plan to do this was sketchy at best. Secondly, when my son got in the car he said "Mom, why do you smell like gas?"

Great.

My husband had a good chuckle at my expense. And his mom did too. He couldn't wait to get on the phone to tell her. Anyway, I really don't think it is right to keep secrets from the hub. Just thought it would be fun to try.

Here is the bright side. On the next day, I ran into my friend Megan at church. Turns out her car broke down too. She is a mom of three and teaches dance classes and Zumba classes in her spare time. She also takes... pole dancing classes. Yes, pole dancing classes. Mild mannered mother of three takes pole dancing. (Can't wait to see the Google Ads this post picks up.)

Turns out she was coming back from a poll dancing class in FULL pole dancing attire. I guess this means gaudy makeup, tight clothes and the works.

She was standing out on the major road of our very mild mannered town in full pole dancing attire. She saw several of her neighbors and many of her friends.

Perfect.

So the bright side: I may have done something ridiculous, but at least I wasn't stranded on Main Street, USA with my pole dancing outfit on. Things are looking up.

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