*I interrupt this post to send you here. The Environmental Working Group just released a study that notes high levels of BPA in almost all formulas. Forget worrying about plastic bottles. This is the real issue at hand!*
I reluctantly stopped to get gas before jumping on the freeway yesterday. I've learned quickly thanks to one long afternoon with two small children and only one teething cracker and a juice box in the Atlanta traffic that you must gas up prior to going anywhere, even if it's two miles home.
Screw snow storms. I need a survival kit for my ride home from the grocery store.
My only option to gas up between home to the highway is the "questionable persons" gas station, conveniently situated by two "Hot Sexy Naked Girlz" strip joints, meaning that on each occasion that I've stopped (I'm not kidding), I've seen some shady dudes pull up to a screeching halt while a scarily skinny and scantily clad dressed woman hops out, and runs across the street (or really, 6 lane road). That's pretty damn hard in a pair of clear plastic fuck-me platforms.
Clarification: It LOOKS pretty damn hard. I mean, I never ran across the street in my clear plastic fuck-me platforms, thank you very much.
Anyway, so I'm pumping gas, tapping my foot because as you know, that generally makes the gas come out quicker, and up pulls a truck behind my car with two thirty-something dudes, one shouting to me as he hopped out of his car pointing at my Mississippi tags.
"Hey baby! Are you from Mississippi? I never meet anyone from Mississippi around here. Because I'm from Mississippi! God I miss it? Don't you miss it? Hey, you here alone? Cause you know..."
Thanks for making me feel relevant, Mississippi, if only for one brief and very skeevy moment.