Pat left in the car this morning to buy wood for Santa's workshop. He called me at noon to say he was on his way home when the car mysteriously stopped. He would call the mechanic, he said, but an hour later he called again to say he was still waiting. About a half hour later he pulled into the garage grinning sheepishly and said, "Don't ask me what was wrong!" And then proceeded to tell me.
While waiting for the mechanic, a church member pulled up and offered his help. Soon another couple from church (and neighbors as well) pulled up, too, and after a bit, the husband said, "Could it be you are out of gas?"
Well, that thought had occured to Pat, but because the gas tank indicator wasn't even in the red, he had discarded the idea. Now, it seemed like a good idea to check it out, and because the gas station was close by, he took off running like a track star, only to trip and fall head over heels in the gravel. He fell in the correct fashion, however, rolling his body, but making quite a spectacle of himself. As he peeled himself off the ground, he noticed the church member's wife had witnessed the great fall. "I'll just tell them you were picking something up from the ground," she teased.
Well, after the car guzzled some gas, it purred like a kitten and brought my hubby home safe and sound except for a scrape on his hand.