Welcome to another edition of Light Fridays
Dear Gas Prices,
I guess there is no easy way to say this. Sigh. Where do I start? When I first met you, you were so cool and fine as hell. I mean like super sexy. Man, I remember the first time I had to pump gas for my own use, you were $0.92 per gallon. Woooweee. You and I together were unstoppable. We would be all over the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex. Whenever you got low, I eagerly went to find some more of you. A measly $10 was not going to come between me and you. I would volunteer to pick up my friends, take them wherever they needed to go, and wouldn’t dare ask for gas money because they too were worth a few dollars’ worth of gas. Sometimes, friends would sneak and leave $5 in the console. I would be elated because that meant 5 whole gallons worth of gas. I thought it would be blissful forever.
Then you started thinking I was taking you for granted. You said I only hit you up when I need you. I guess I never said thank you. I figured you knew I appreciated you staying in shape, keep them numbers down. I wish I would have said something before now. But now here we are, and I am no longer find you remotely attractive. You’ve let yourself go. I am actually disgusted whenever I see you; so much so I just turn away when I am using you that way I don’t have to face how much you jacked me for until the last possible second. Then I stare at my receipt full of regret and remorse wondering how in the hell we got here.
I know I need you. But I wrote this letter so you know we’re not cool anymore. Also, please stop with the automated pleasantries, it only annoys me further. Thanks.
The Mocha Café 