I Have Gas

I get it at Arco.

In fact, I think everyone should befriend an Israeli gas station owner at an Arco near you. If you have children, he'll stuff their pockets with free chocolate and hold them near the register while you fill up on sixty four ounce Diet Cokes which he'll then give to you for free. If you're single, he'll curse in Hebrew at any thugs that check out your ass near the Beef Jerky cases. If you're old, he'll help you to the car and tell you stories about his 3 sons and marriage to his wife - she was a 15 year old bride via good old fashioned match making, no less! (And if you're nosy and desperate for interaction, like me, you're privy to all three scenarios.)

Most of all, good old fashioned Israeli Arco managers make you feel like a person when it's 101 in the Valley and you think you're nothing but a mother with no make-up and post-pardum softness that you just can't get rid of (despite walking to Arco). But the Arco manager will smile and remark,"Ooooh, you lost weight?" And when you say "Yes" (thrilled for the compliment) they will add, with 3 clicks of the tongue,"... Too much lost. Not good. Not good at all."

Even if you think this person is delusional, you'll love him for having an opinion other than "Mommmmmmmy... this chocolate is melting!.... Mommmmmy... I want a sip of your soda!" ... "Mooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmy... Pip is touching my spooooooooooooooooon!"

Speaking of loving Arco, I also love Kate. Thank you, sweet Kate, for the retro post card and vintage Arco patch! If I were a true fifties housewife, I'd not only know how to sew it onto a jean shirt, but I'd actually never stop to talk to a 50 year old Jewish dude who chuckles at my kids and wishes me Happy Pesach.

Thank God I'm me, thank God my husband is my husband who laughs at my Arco stories, thank God you're a wacky blond living in San Fran and remembering Valley housewives like me, and to all of you out there reading, thank God you're you! Now, as Albert would say, "Shalom!"