The Gas Pump

I had to stop at the gas station today to fill er up. I am not going to write about how it took $26 to fill up the tank on my sub compact car. No, I am going to share another one of my many neurosis with ya'll that not even D. knows about yet.

Every time I go to get gas I have to pay with a credit card.

So what? You may be saying that to yourself right now. Well it isn't because I don't carry cash on me, or that I don't like gas station attendants. I have to pay for my gas with a credit card to have an alibi.

An alibi for what?

Well, you really never know when you might need one. Who knows when I might be framed for a vicious murder or something insane like that and the only thing keeping me from becoming cell mates with a very large man named Bubba is a credit card receipt.

Hey, it could happen. . .