Prayers are answered. Even when you do stupid things.

I don't mean for this blog to be dedicated to the skunk truck, but it has supplied me with most of my traumatic experiences as of late, and I like blogging about them. So here's another one.

Once upon a time yesterday I went to go fill up the old skunky truck with gas. The gas tank access door thinga-ma-jig has to be opened with a key sometimes. But not other times. I can't explain it. It has a lock? Whatever.

So I was trying reallllllly hard to open up the gas lock, and totally bent my car key. To the max. It was both bent AND twisted. I didn't take a picture, (because I was PANICKING) but I should have. This is seriously what it looked like though:


But worse. It wouldn't open my door, and it definitely wouldn't turn the ignition. I thought about calling my dad to ask him what to do, but that's when I remembered that the key I destroyed was the one and only key we have for the skunk. My earthly father, the amazing fix-it-man that he is, wouldn't be able to help me.

At that point, I said a desperate prayer to my Heavenly Father that I would be able to somehow get home. I really, really did not want to have to be towed from the gas station. After my little prayer, I became a newly inspired and determined McGyver. I stuck the bent key back into the gas tank lock and then carefully, meticulously and expertly bent my key back into near perfect condition. Wait, should that have been physically possible? Probably not. Did it open the door? Yes. Did it fit in the ignition? Pretty much. Does the car start? Yes.

I said another little prayer of thanks as I made my way back to my apartment. As I got out of my little truck, I noticed that I had driven all the way home from the gas station with my ancient and probably non-replaceable gas cap just sitting gingerly on the roof of the truck-bed cover.

I then said another little prayer of thanks that the gas cap didn't roll off. I am a dumb dumb. And my prayers are still answered. That's good to know.