Fluke?

I know I have a smart (or more likely, smart aleck) FurBoy because Bandit has honked the car horn at me when I take too much time inside the Post Office or Rest Area bathroom (three times to date).  And I have to keep the SUV windows on child lock because he has rolled the windows down more times than I can count on my fingers and toes--even when I count on his and Moggy's paws.

While he usually turns his butt to every smart phone and camera within a mile that attempts to capture his likeness--he has also managed to take an X-rated selfie when he stepped over my iPhone and captured the Full Monty. He has also been known to turn on the TV or change channels with the remote. He's quite accomplished.  I may be reduced to asking him for tech support if I can't understand the next Technician that talks geek-giberish at (over) my head.

More importantly for the purpose of this post, I  also realize  it's probably a fluke that Bandit has managed to activate the massage function of my new bed--twice in  the last two days.

I say probably, because I rather doubt he is doing it on purpose; however, part of me has to wonder.....😉

Timing Is Everything

I stopped at WalMart for gas. The line was super long but the price was the cheapest I had seen in town all week.  I could have missed waiting in the line if I had gased up earlier today, or even earlier in the week.  But I didn't.  So I waited today.

And waited. And waited. And waited some more.  I grew impatient as I waited. In a thinly veiled attempt to avoid the appearance of being impatient, I found things to do other than watch for the woman to return to the truck in front of me. I sorted coupons.  And mail. And cleaned recepits, coins, and wrapped hard candies out of my drink-holder file. She finally returned. However, she did not get into her truck. She proceeded to start to gas up.

So I dusted my dash. And tidied up my last manicure.

I contemplated my pedicire, but decided I'm no longer flexable enough to work around the gear shaft.

I reconsidered the pedi while she went to pay for her gas. And chit-chat with the clerk.  And another coustomer or seven. And shop.  Before finally  sauntering back to her truck.

Slower than any tortoise she scaled the steps into the  cab of her truck, in the amount of time it might take a seasoned mountaineer to ascend Mount Everest. 

She left infuriatingly slowly. The three cars behind me had moved to faster moving lines, or left for less crowded, albeit more expensive gas stations long ago. 

Since I remained the sole holdout in her line, and I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of knowing how infuriating her inconsideration was, I pretended like I was super busy and waited until she was all the way out of the gas station parking lot before I moved up to the pump.

Where I read "out of gas" signs on all but the supreme pump handle. "You've got to be kidding me!" I muttered. I really should have gased up  earlier.

A man flagged me down as  I pulled away to search for regular unleaded. I normally don't respond to strange men in parking lots, but this time I'm glad I did.

He told me since they were out of the two lesser grades, they were selling the supreme, which was selling for $2.97 a gallon at a competitors gas station, for their $2.31 price of regular. He said he filled up his has guzzler, his Wife and Daughters cars, and every 5 gallon gas can he owned.

I decided to gas up with the good stuff as well. 

Of course, my SUV probably won't know how to act with the good stuff in it. But I decided to risk it.

Oh, yeah, that thing about timming being everything? As I finished stuffing every drop of supreme I could into my tank, a tanker with regular gas drove up and began filling the empty tanks.