Goodbye, poor brain cells- squirrel?

As I try to think of some topic to blog about, one of the new layers that I got at my new haircut swung into my face. I batted at it with my hand and was struck with the overpowering smell of gasoline. I feel like a sheltered child. Even though I've had my driver's license for a year now, I hardly know how to pump gasoline. My dad always took care of it for me, so I never did. Today, I filled my tank for the third time ever at a trusty, somewhat battered, gas station in town. The pump was rather old, you see, so when I lifted the nozzle to put it in my truck, it splattered all over my hands and barely missed my shoes. I looked down at the long pipe connected to the handle to see what could have caused it and noticed that it also was partially covered in gas as well, so my hands became yet more covered in gasoline. I kept scrubbing at them afterwards, but the dusky smell of farmer won't leave. (My dad used to farm, so all of his work clothes always smelled like gasoline.) It smells of farmers and boats and go-carts and the beginnings of roller coasters and boy. Isn't the smell supposed to kill a couple brain cells every time you're exposed to it? Is that really something that we should be filling our cars with and sending out into the atmosphere? Maybe I should stop smelling it. My head already feels emptier. Hmmm. I wonder if the traces that are left could still be so flammable. Or would it simply burn off quickly, never inflicting pain like the classic science projects from back in high school? I don't really want to find out the hard way. I don't particularly want to risk any limbs today. Wow, no wonder my parents won't let me have lighter fluid.


"Why do you have matches in your purse?"
"Because my parents won't let me have lighter fluid."
Imagine this question coming from a pastor's wife. Now you can probably understand why that response was so funny to her.=]