The End of a Good Run

Well, after two months of living in Boise, I finally had to pump my own gas. I am that rare Oregonian who relishes that five to seven minutes of downtime I get when I am being waited on by a gas station attendant. Such indulgence! I know, I know, you like having control yourself. I can appreciate that. But those few minutes to listen to whatever CD is playing, to balance my checkbook, or to wipe off the dash with one of those handy individually packaged plastic protectant wipes that will end up in a landfill...priceless. Just before crossing the state line into Idaho, the last thing I do is get gas in Oregon. God bless you rogue Oregon legislators!

I have not had to actually fill up since we've been here through a series of random events that had me travelling and not driving the Mini, or him filling it up just because he's driving. I had to get gas for the first time last night. Luckily it was a balmy 41 degrees out, so my fingers didn't stick to the pump. It was awesome to go to Target smelling like a gas station attendant. Mmm.