A "Trisha Moment"

Hi All!

Remember I told you that I was related to that Murphy's Law dude? Well, I thought I would tell you one story which makes me a believer!

This story happened to me in the presence of my dear Hubby and his brother. We had gone to Bermuda for a week's vacation and, since no cars are rented on the island, rented nice little scooters. This wasn't my first time on the island with Hubby. We went to Bermuda for out honeymoon. That was the time Hubby worried about me being able to drive a scooter. He must not have heard my stories of riding the motorcycle or the three wheelers at the farm.

Or maybe he DID hear them!

Anyway - we had our little scooters. We needed to fill up with gas so we stopped at the gas station. All stations in Bermuda are full service - that means a little man comes and pumps the gas for you. I think he might clean your windshield too - if you had one.

The little man came out to pump gas. He had to have been about 70 years old and seemed very slow and deliberate. Hubby and his brother had their tanks filled first (what happened to LADIES first???) and then it was my turn.

If you have never seen a scooter in real life, you need to know that under the seat, which flips up, is the gas tank access and a little compartment to store things - like your helmet - or, in this case, my purse. I love that purse - it is a brown leather Coach purse and is the perfect size for traveling. It was the first Coach purse I ever got and I bought it myself with one of my first paychecks when I started teaching. I love that purse!

Soooooo . . .. the little, old man filled up the first two scooters with no problem. Then he started pumping gas into mine. So far, so good. Then, someone called to him from the building. As this man turned his head to see who was calling him, his hand holding the gas pump - which was still pumping gas - turned also. The gas pumping hand stopped right over the little storage area under the seat - and where my purse was. Still. Pumping. Gas.

Gas began to slop over my beloved purse and into the storage area. It started accumulating rapidly. Seeing this, Hubby and I both yelled "HEY!" to the little, old man. He did turn back to the scooter - SLOWLY - and put the nozzle back into the gas tank. He wasn't phased at all that he had pumped an inch or two of gas into my purse!

That is right - into my purse! I scooped the purse out of the scooter and it literally dripped gas all over the place. Luckily most of the contents were safe but the poor purse was drenched!

After they quit laughing, Hubby and his brother managed to get the little, old man to get us some rags to mop up the gas sloshing in the storage area and to blot some off of my still dripping purse. During this mopping-up time, Hubby and his brother continued to break out into laughter each time they looked at me attempting to blot my purse.

I was a little angry! It was my favorite purse and that darn guy didn't even act the least bit sorry for saturating it with gasoline! I don't think he even gave us a discount for the gas that went into the storage area rather than the tank! That isn't fair! You would think he would have at least apologized. Nope! Nothing!

I held my purse at an arm's distance all the way back to the hotel (it stunk like gas - naturally) which was several miles. Once in the hotel Hubby sealed my purse in a plastic bag for the remainder of our trip and the journey home.

Why me? The gas COULD have soaked the beer Hubby had under HIS seat!

Trisha

P.S. I did eventually get the gas smell out of my purse (Thanks, Heloise!) but it was never the same!

Voice Update: Good but, after a couple of days of talking way more than usual to my parents, I am taking it easy today. I am making sure to do my massage (which I still don't like to do!) and my exercises. Fun, Fun!