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Running on fumes is one step from empty
(by Christine Thome - April 14, 2011)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BY CHRISTINE THOME
Running on fumes is one step from empty
Life is full of warning signs.
Who can forget the "Lost in Space" catch phrase, "Danger, Will Robinson!" Young Will would have died that first episode and every one after that if it wasn't for the robot's warning.
Street signs warn us to yield, watch for pedestrians, crossing deer and even falling rocks.
Tornado warnings are there to give us time to prepare and take shelter.
Lawyers throughout the country make fortunes representing idiots who fail to heed the warning labels on consumer products.
I'm not a card-carrying member of Mensa, but I'm not an idiot either. So why didn't I pay attention to the bright orange "Low Fuel" digital readout on my car? I don't know.
The light came on early Monday, but I knew I had a good 30 to 40 miles left in the tank. For the next few days, I ran errands around town, drove to work and picked kids up from school, never venturing more than a few miles from home each way.
So I was more than a little surprised that, while stopped at a very busy intersection on Thursday afternoon, my car refused to move when the street light finally turned green. I knew I was getting close to running on fumes, and I was even driving to the gas station when it finally gave out, but I never really thought "Low Fuel" was the manufacturer's nice way of saying, "You are on the very last drop of fuel, you stupid idiot!"
Always the optimist, I realized that, although I was in a major bind and making drivers behind me very angry, I had the opportunity to be thankful for three things. First, I was only 100 feet away from the gas station. Second, I had my strong twin 14-year-old daughters in the car with me.
As parents, it's our No. 1 priority to embarrass our kids. But if you want to absolutely humiliate your teenagers, I suggest you make them get out of the car in front of a crowded McDonald's, where they insist everyone they know is watching, and push a stalled car through a busy intersection, all while their mother screams loud enough to be heard in the next county, "Push harder, girls! We're not going to make it before the light turns again. Hurry!"
My third thankful moment occurred when a very kind and strong gentleman got out of his car and helped my daughters push the car through the intersection. This man truly saved our family that day. Without him, my daughters would have begged to live with a relative in another state so that they would not have to be recognized as the children of that stupid lady who ran out of gas.
But I guess this incident is reflective of most women's lives -- we're all running on fumes. Between work, kids, home, travel, homework, the yard, colleges, dogs, cats, sports and husbands, we have no gas left in our tanks, and eventually something's going to happen that will cause us to stop and not move any further until our energy levels are sufficiently replenished.
As in my case, we exhausted women can only hope that there is a strong and kind man pushing us to that replenishing station.
Preferably one that carries expensive red wines and fabulous chocolates.
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