So yesterday was a busy busy day.
I drove an hour to a meeting with an incredible lady who runs an "executives in transition" networking group. She was helpful and motivating. But she is not the topic of this post.
I then drove 45 minutes to see my lovely therapist, Julie. She was helpful and motivating and funny. But she is not the topic of this post either.
I then drove 30 minutes to eat dinner with a new friend. He was delightful and funny. But he is not the topic of this post.
I then headed home, roughly 40 minutes away. And a funny thing happened after that very busy day of driving, driving, driving.
I ran out of gas.
I RAN OUT OF GAS.
At my age. In the luxury automobile that I can no longer afford.
Out of gas with the other cars whizzing by at an alarming rate ( I did manage to guide my car off the actual road). And being an adult woman with no job and few friends I'm willing to bother at nearly 9pm because almost all my nearby friends have young children.
So what did I do?
I called the wasband. And he is the topic of this post, people.
He leapt out of bed and ran and got some gas in a gas can then he risked life and limb jumping over a median and pouring the gas into my tank (at least some of it got in my tank, a lot ended up on the ground for some reason).
Over the course of this blog I have been unkind to George (the wasband) but last night he really came through for me. It's not the first time. It probably won't be the last.