I am the victim of a drive-by cashing.

This morning after tennis lessons…

Don’t you love how ‘tennis lessons’ makes it seem like I’m living an extraordinarily luxurious life, throwing dinner parties and garden teas and all?

It’s mirage.  Unless dinner parties include extra-large red plastic cups and paper plates?  Then, by all means, I am the portrait of high society.

Continuing with my story…I stopped by the house to raid the change bucket for half-and-half money.  I desperately needed a cup of coffee, even if it was decaf, but I’m a total coffee snob.  I just can’t drink coffee without cream.  Low-fat milk is unacceptable and skim milk is an insult to my morning mouth.  Fringeman is to blame for making me a cream and sugar addict.

What can I say?

Sign me up for an anonymous class.

Because Tuesday is not Monday and the clouds happened to align in the shape of a bleeding heart, FringeMan drove through our street just as I was about to walk up the stairs.  He hung a twenty out the window and told me to get gas.  It was a drive by cashing.  I must admit, I do love when my man waves money at me.

After piling the kids in the car, I deliberated on whether I could drive the extra five blocks to get half-and-half without first getting gas.  Coffee was definitely the priority.  Since our gas gauge is broken and I probably guess mileage like I guess the balance in my checking account, I drove directly to the gas station where I proceeded to make my son pump my gas.

Call this post Confessions of a Diva, because I never pump my own gas.  Now ladies, take a chill-pill.  I already hear the tsk-tsk in your voice.  I embrace the age of equal rights, voting privileges, and the option of climbing the corporate ladder.  I just hate the smell of gas on my hands.  Besides, FringeMan really is a gem.  He usually always thinks to check my car for gas.  It’s probably easier than fetching me at two o’clock in the afternoon when I’ve broken down in front of the grocery store.  Regardless, FringeMan is my knight with five gallons of gas.

Hmmm…that probably didn’t sound right.

I’ve been married for nearly fourteen years.  Yes, I was a child bride.  Now I am twenty-eight.  And one half.

Fourteen years ago pay-at-the-pump wasn’t so popular, and since I would drive ten miles out of my way to find a full-service gas station, I rarely operated the very technical and highly confusing pumps with glowing lights and buttons.  Some of them even talk to you.  Heaven forbid.  People do not speak to me before I’ve had my coffee.  Imagine the irritation a talking pump would cause?

Let me just blurt out my twenty-eleven faux pas  – I could not get the pump to work.

A nice man rescued me, and then he helped the old woman behind me.  I didn’t feel so bad after I saw granny having difficulty.  After all, she’s got years of experience on me.

I got my gas.

I got my half-and-half.

I wasn’t  really a child bride.

I most certainly am twenty-eight.

The End.

You can all take a collective sigh of relief and wonder why I bother to recount the minutiae of my day.

I have no answers.  Now excuse me while I go lounge by the pool and eat bon-bons.

You probably shouldn’t believe everything I say.


12 thoughts on “I am the victim of a drive-by cashing.

  1. Pingback: When I’m Sixty-four | Coming East

  2. robinaltman

    Hey! Kevin’s giving tennis lessons as his new non-toxic summer job! Come on down!

    Do you have the food store linked to gas thing in NY? It is the joy of my life. You earn points for groceries and get money off at the pump (if you use the grocery store pump). I let it get as low as I can while I save up points. Last week was my ultimate – 70 cents off per gallon!! I almost wept with joy.

    1. the domestic fringe Post author

      Robin, too bad we don’t live in the same town, because then your son could give my daughter tennis lessons. How fun would that be!

      I know one supermarket does, but I don’t have one close by. Maybe it would be worth it for me to take a drive, I’m not sure. Congrats on your awesome gas deal though! *hands clapping*

  3. Deb

    Well I thought you were pretty high flutin’ with all your tennis lessons. 😉 I have never been the victim of drive by cashings but I would like to be! 🙂 For the record, it’s my husband who runs out of gas in this household. 🙂 🙂

  4. Laura

    I want some drive by cashings! I totally understand your coffee situation, I’m a cream and sugar girl too…skim milk or half & half is just not the same! And, when I say cream I mean like 18%! mmmm…..

    Also, don’t feel bad about not pumping gas, I don’t even drive, let alone pump. I tease hubby that he’s my chauffeur, but then he makes the point that he’d have to get paid to be called my chauffeur…
    Happy drive bys!

  5. comingeast

    This had me laughing because I, too, do not pump my own gas. My husband of nearly 40 years still puts gas in my car, and before that, full-serve was the norm. I had to make him promise not to die before me because I wouldn’t be able to drive anywhere after the first week or so. He promised. Really enjoy your writing.

  6. DJ

    Lemme get this straight.
    Your child takes tennis lessons.
    Your husband gives you money on a whim.
    You don’t pump your own gas.

    Uh-huh….No, you’re not a Diva or anything….
    For cryin’ out loud!

      1. DJ

        LOL !!!
        You go girl…

        I guess I can’t say a thing; before I gave up coffee three years ago, my husband would fix me a cup and bring it to me in the living room after dinner. He stills spols me rotten. 🙂


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