Oops!

“Try it again.”

Nothing. No engine sound, no starter clicking, nothing.

“You’re right. The car won’t start.” John scratched his head, surveyed the engine.

“Did you think I was lying? That I’d drag you out here when it’s minus ten for a joke?” I couldn’t believe he just stood there, doing nothing.

The garage is cold, my feet are freezing, my fingers numb. It got down to -20° last night.

I got to thinking. Perhaps the battery? No, can’t be that. We had it plugged in last night. Lights come on, radio works, fan works. What else could it be?

The hood was still up, my husband still staring at the engine.

I turned the key, all the gauges lit up. Well, low and behold! The gas gauge showed an alarming E. Well, there you go!

“John,” I yelled out the open window, “when was the last time you stopped for gas?”

My man closed the hood, came around to me with a sheepish grin.

“Oops!”

“Oops? I have to get to work. And all you can say is ‘oops?’ I don’t know a lot about cars, but I do know they run on some kind of fuel, John.”

“We’re in luck. I found some gas leftover from summer mowing. Should be enough to get you to the Conoco.” A small red gas container appeared at the window.

“A gallon? We live ten miles from there. Is it enough?”

John emptied the can into the car. “Should be. You’re all set.”

“Fine, now give me some cash so I can fill up.”

“Oops.”

W/C 263