Range of Forgetfulness

The gas gauge was sitting on the big ole’ “E” this morning at 7:52 AM reminding me that I totally forgot to gas up the car last night. “Darn it” I muttered.  I lowered my head and glared menacingly at it narrowing my eyes just enough to give it my most threatening look hoping my effort might scare it enough to move the other direction just a little, at least enough to get Baby Chick to school on time. “Curse you little red needle!”


It taunted me like a predator in a school yard handing out suspicious looking cigarettes. “Sure you will be able to make it all the way to school…don’t worry. I got this. I promise I won’t quit you halfway there forcing you to walk him the rest of the way in your stylish blue and purple plaid clown pajama pants coordinated ever so beautifully with the sequined brown and red dirty fuzzy bootie slippers.  The other moms should be so fashion-forward.  C’mon…trust me.”


I was being lured in by the sweet talk until I remembered one important thing.  I’ve got RANGE.  Not "of motion" or "home on the", but a sweet little ingenious feature included on my car that reveals to stupidly forgetful technically savvy folks like me exactly how many more miles can be driven before said vehicle comes to a sputtering screeching halt on the side of the road.  Take that you stupid little red needle.  Ha, you will not get me today. “Lies! It’s all lies!” I shout at it.  


RANGE said I still had 33 miles to go before I would have to make the walk of shame in my fashionable ensemble.  RANGE is now my new best friend.