little punks.

photo cred: Andrea Wanlass

I haven't even started writing yet and I know this post will be boring.

If you make it through without falling asleep, two points for you!

On Friday Clint and I went to grab a bite to eat.

As some of you ladies may relate, I had no interest in food. Like the real kind of food. I wanted a 468 ounce chocolate bunny. in my belly. stat. 

So, after dinner Clint took me to the McDonald's drive through for one of their 99 cent hot fudge Sundaes.  Not the healthiest thing on the planet, but my hormones didn't care.

We're in line and there's a big truck in front of us that won't go. One if the girls in the truck gets out and starts pushing it. After me and Clint get my much anticipated delightfully chocolately sundae in my hands, we go over to see if we can help them. Their car ran out of gas. SO, we had to come up with a plan. Me and Clint went all the way back to my house to get a gas can, to a gas station to fill up, and then back to the McDonald's parking lot to give them the gas. Well, by this time my hot fudge sundae had melted into a cold fudge milk bath. My monthly physiological need for chocolate was not being satisfied! Red alert! But at this point, I was still happy to help. The grumpiness sets in later. 

Back to the nitty gritty.

So, we gas up the car, and it still won't start.

We try to push start it.

Nothing.

Time to jumpstart.

After getting it hooked up and trying for what seemed like forever, it finally started.

Then one of the girls says to the other

"Well, at least it's free gas."

Happy feeling gone. It took every ounce of strength in my body to not get my snapping fingers out and tell that sister from another mister that the gas was in fact not free and that I had paid for it with my heard earned dolla bills. And now not only was I two gallons of gas poorer, but had no chocolate and we missed our movie and didn't have time to rent one. I work early on Saturday mornings so that Friday night time is cherished! Well, while me and Clint are spending like an hour or more helping them, they're texting and facebooking their friends about this hilarious story about how two teenage girls get stuck in a drive-thru because they forget to get gas. This must have been another time they were talking about. This story definitely wasn't funny. Among my least favorite emotions is the feeling that you're being taken advantage of. That feeling was pretty strong at this point. Who is with me? Now I feel bad and I'm contemplating deleting this post. Eh, I'll just blame it on the hormones.

Women complain about premenstrual syndrome, but I think of it as the only time of the month that I can be myself.

-Rosanne Barr

[I disagree with this quote. That, however, doesn't stop it from being funny. ]