Saturday morning on the way to our monthly meeting of Romance Writers of America, my car just sputtered and died. I'm barreling down the interstate at seventy miles an hour and the speed-o-meter needle just starts to go down. I signal and coast over to the side of the road. I put on my flashers, then get out and lift the hood to look under it in bewilderment.
Getting back in the car, I try the ignition and, bless its little heart it tries to turn over, but it just can't. I call my dear hubby and tell him where I am and he promises me he'll be there as soon as he can. I turn on the radio to jam a little while I'm waiting.
As the cars, trucks and diesels swoop by my car is rocking in their current, I decide it's best to put back on my seatbelt. Then I tried to start the engine again, it sounds to me like it's out of gas. How can that be? It shows over a half a tank. Wait, it said that yesterday and the day before.
Thank goodness for cell phones, I call my husband again and ask when the last time he put in gas was. He hasn't all week and neither have I. I told him I think I'm out of gas; he sighs and tells me he'll get a gas can and gas.
I'm back to waiting and listening to the radio. I watch the cars buzz by and I see men of all ages, not even slowing to see why I'm stopped on a hot July morning. Apparently, they all are too busy to stop and help a lone woman in distress. I'm a romance writer, so of course I'm trying to think of a story line to come out of this predicament. How can I do that if no hero stops to help? Do I look like an ax murderer? Are they afraid that I'll turn their good dead into an accusation that they tried to assault me?
Men you should be ashamed of yourselves! Would you want your wife, mother or sister sitting out in a car waiting for someone to stop and help? Well maybe I can salvage the story line. I could always write about a stranded woman taking down license plate numbers of the men who passed her by. I could write a murder mystery.
Finally, my husband, my hero shows up with the gas. He pours it in, I turn the key and the battery is dead. What can I say I need my tunes! So of course he has to maneuver around to give me a jump-start, and after nearly being hit he had his precious baby (his corvette) turned the wrong way facing my car.
All is well. After my car is running beautifully, I get off the exit, get gas and head to my meeting. I arrived in time to hear the end of the workshop.