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My poor, sweet, long-suffering husband seems to always get into my car when it is in need of gas. Last night was another in the many instances that seemed to start last spring.

I borrowed Dave's truck to haul a grill or something for work. When Dave got into my car, it needed gas. For some reason he drove my car for a few days, when he got the truck back, it needed gas.

Late this summer after we found out I was pregnant, Dave didn't want me to pump gas. So, when we would be out running errands, we would stop so Dave could fill up my car. We've continued that trend. Actually, when we were going to church in Denton July 2006-February 2007, Dave and I would stop at QuikTrip on the way home for gas and fountain drinks. So, my sweet husband has always been a gentleman and kept gas in my car.

Last night we got in the car to head out to Cabela's. Dave had a gift certificate that he wanted to use for a fishing gear bag, and I needed to exercise after eating dinner. After a long day at work, I asked Dave to drive. About three miles from home, the gas light came on. Dave swore. I thought he was mad at traffic. Then he followed up in a mock, sing-song voice, "Why don't you drive? My car needs gas." Despite my protests, I don't think he believes that I truly did not plan this. Heck, if I realized my car needed gas, I would have told him that we'd have to stop and get gas while we were out.

Dave thinks he's filled up the tank in my new car more times than I have. I agree. In my defense, I have put gas in the car. Multiple times even. But, I think I'll start paying closer attention to the gas gauge and get gas every now and then so Dave doesn't have to continue to put the petro in my tank.