And apparently, I'm weak as a kitten. I stopped to put gas in my car on my way to the dinner with a friend. This particular pump had an extra sturdy nozzle guard (or whatever that rubber accordion thing is ) and I could not get the nozzle far enough in to pump the gas. The back flow kept shutting off the pump. I tried to shove it in farther and it seemed to work until I heard "gurgle gurgle" and jump back just in time to avoid a gush of gasoline spilling down the side of my car. I have never done this in all the years I've been pumping gas (since before I could drive because Mom didn't like to pump).
I cussed like a sailor* because that stuff is liquid gold and who knows how much of the $20 worth of gas ended up on the ground or on my car. Fortunately, I have paper towels in the truck and was able to wipe it up. Unfortunately, I smelled like gas and so did the interior of my car; I must have gotten some on my shoes after all. I was queasy by the time I got to Woodland Hills.
*I don't want any hate mail from sailors. I suppose I could have said "trucker" but I don't really know truckers. I know sailors. My Dad was a sailor once and lo, the vocabulary I gained while he re-wired our house. Although my brother was also a sailor and he's always toned down the swearing.
Hmmm, I guess I just cussed like me.