A couple of weekends ago my wife had to run out and do a little shopping for our upcoming trip to Mexico. She asked if she could take my vehicle. When I asked her why, she told me her vehicle needed gas and a couple of her tires needed some air pumped into them. I don’t know about any other of the husbands out there, but I knew exactly what she meant when she told me all of that. It was a subtle request to take care of all that for her. Message received.
I had just finished doing my usual Saturday errands and didn’t feel like doing any more that morning, so I told her I would take care of that for her the next day. “Thank you honey, you’re the best.”
The next morning I was up early and ready to roll. First stop was Klein’s on 4th and Pasqua. Not only is gas cheaper there than anywhere else in the city, but Bob always has 620 CKRM blaring in the background. Thank you Bob!
Then it was off to get air, which is easier said than done. I remember when you could get air at any gas station you went to. Now those spots are few and far between. I know there’s an air machine at the Shell on McCarthy, but I wasn’t anywhere near there. I finally found an air machine at the Esso station on Vic and Albert. It only cost me $1. What a deal. I paid a buck for something that I breathe in 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for absolutely nothing! I guess it costs money to compress it! One thing I learned that morning is I’ve got to get me one of those machines!
So, after running around for nearly half an hour I made it back home with a vehicle full of gas and all 4 tires plum full of air that I had to buy.
How did that gal ever manage before I came around?