Gas stations are a place for addicts.
I may have mentioned this before, but I will mention it again. Gas stations are the place where people go to get their daily fix. Whether it be of candy, caffeine, or cocaine, ok ok, nicotine (but I was loving the alliteration!) the gas station is where it’s at.
One thing you probably know about me at this point, is that mama loves herself some diet cola. And this means I have my very specific preferences about gas stations. Yes I know this puts me in the company of a colorful crowd, and I’m not above that.
I used to be a Maverik girl through and through. I mean, it’s “Adventure’s First Stop!” And I sincerely believe that. The frozen yogurt is tops, I like the fountain drink selection they have there, and I always love the workers. What can I say, I like a place where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came.
But even though I’m a gas station aficionado, one thing I never understood was why some gas stations had drive-thru windows for your drinks and snacks. I mean, how lazy do you have to be not to want to filler-up yourself?
HA! That is what I thought BEFORE I had a baby.
Now I realize the important place drive-thru gas stations have in our society. Do you know how amazing it is that I can get a fountain drink without having to jostle Ginger out of the car? It’s the best thing ever!
I remember when she was a few weeks old I was driving aimlessly around town because the car was the only place she’d take a nap. I didn’t want any food, but I did want a drink. And then boom! It hit me! That’s what those drive-thru gas stations were for!
I now frequent the Crest near my home, even though I still love the Maverik, they don’t have a drive-thru. I love how the ladies who work at the Crest never look at you like a lazy fat slob for making them fill your drink and grab your M&Ms. They are so nice! Plus, they Crest 32ouncers have “Bigswig” written on the side of the cup in a sexy Old English looking typeface. It would make a fetching tattoo.
Anyway. I just wanted to publicly declare my love for these drive-thru gas stations. And my love for Diet Dr. Pepper, and the women who work at Crest, and peanut butter M&Ms.
Now the only thing left to do is think about what I will tell Ginger when she is old enough to ask why she can’t have any of mommy’s drink. What do you do? And boy, do I sound like an alcoholic or what?
“Shorry shweetie, no sips from mommy’s special sauce.”
And on that note…I sign off.