Living on the Edge

Yesterday morning, as my minivan started up, the orange dot reminded me that “Shit, I forgot to fill up the tank. Oh, well, I have 7 miles left. That’s more than enough.”  Previous experience had proven that the gas meter on my most reliable minivan is indeed trustworthy. Thank you, Honda. As I backed out of the garage, I entertained the possibility of heading to the nearest gas station, which was the opposite direction of the kids’ school. I decided it wasn’t worth making my son late to class, especially since I was confident I could get him there, and then get myself and my sick daughter back home with a couple of miles to spare. So, to school I drove. We made it to school and back home with 3 miles to spare. Repeat this same thought process for pick up time.

“You’re crazy! I would never do that.” replied my husband when I sent him the photo above. That was after I had picked up my son from school. We were on our way to the nearest gas station, of course.

“We’re living on the edge, kids! Cross your fingers we make it to the gas station!” And we did.

Call me Kramer, but I like to know the limits of my vehicle. I have pushed my minivan over the edge at least one time before without the kids or any passengers. It drove 3-5 miles past the 0 mile mark on the digital gauge. It could probably do more. I use to drive a ’97 Honda Civic to the left of the slash all the time. Boy, could that car run on fumes.

Honestly, I don’t live on the edge very often now. Rarely. And it’s never planned. When it does happen, I do feel ALIVE!!

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