Me: Um, babe…the gas light is on.
Me: The gas light is on. *pointing*
BF: I see it.
Me: So…Shouldn’t we get gas?
BF: Naaaaahh… We can drive to Lafayette on that (about 30 miles).
Me: Nooooooo…Look, the needle is in the red. In. The. Red. The gas light has never come on in this car but I’m pretty sure that means we need to get gas immediately or we’re in dire straits.
BF (as he continues to drive in the opposite direction of a gas station): We’ll be fine! Hell, we could make it to Indy (60ish miles) on that! Well, Brownsburg (about 40 miles), at least…
Me: *angry face*
The BF merrily drove us home while I watched the gas gauge from the passenger seat, silently fuming because how dare he let my gas get that low.
The next morning, we got in the car and headed to my mom and dad’s house. No mention of stopping at a gas station and my gas gauge was still in the red. After he dropped me off I was convinced he’d run out of gas on the way back to our house.
That evening on the way home, I looked at the gas gauge and noticed that it now said I had half a tank.
Me: Thanks for putting gas in my car!
BF: We still could have gone to Lafayette on what you had.
Me (Digging through the glove box): Um, no. No we could not.
I located the owners manual and flipped to the section that covered fuel.
Me: OK. *reading aloud in an incredibly smug manner* When the gas light comes on and the instrument panel reads GET SOME DAMNED GAS (ok, not really what the manual said but close), your tank contains 1.6 gallons of fu…
BF: Hey…What’s the gas mileage on this thing?
Me: Shut up.
BF: Something like, 30 MPG highway, right?
Me: Not talking to you.
BF: So… With what we had yesterday…
Me: OK OK FINE YOU’RE RIGHT.
So there you have it, ladies and gents… Mark your calendars. I was mildly incorrect (did you think I was going to say I was wrong?) about something. I guess it had to happen once in my lifetime.