Tonight we went out to a lovely family dinner at one of my fave Chinese restaurants. It went down the usual way, with the little brother being incredibly rude to the waiter and taking a decade to eat his meal because he has to struggle with chopsticks.
On the way home, we stopped at the new Buc-ee's gas station to fill up the truck before my Dad and little sister go out of town for a softball tournament tomorrow. While at the fuel pump, my other little brother was filling the tank up.
One of the things my dad hates the most is when people pull up in their cars with rap music blaring loud enough for everyone in the city to hear, especially when the music isn't clean. One of these lovely folks pulled up next to us.
Dad, after a fit of sputtering, turned on his radio to the kind-of-local classic country station he loves. Unfortunately, most of the time this station is static-filled. Such was the case this evening. Mom turned it down, Dad turned it back up, and it went like that for a minute.
Until Dad asked "Where the hell is my Dujka Brothers CD?" Oh yeah, Dad, nothing like polka to shut up the kid in the Camry next to us.
He couldn't find the Dujka Brothers CD. So, he went with the next best thing, Johnny Cash. An elderly woman in her SUV catty-corner from us was pointing at Dad. Joey leapt into the cab and Dad pulled away from the pump, turning the radio down. The hardcore rap next to us had gone silent. Dad won.
And then he looked down at the fuel gage. Joey had only filled the truck to 3/4 of a tank full. So, tomorrow, it looks like Dad will be making another stop at Buc-ees.