Perhaps Paraphrased a Bit

Neno: Oh. My. God. It's like a HALF HOUR before Kindermusik starts. What the hell am I going to do for a half hour??? (Of course, I could have, I don't know, cleaned the house or packed my suitcase for Big Important Trip of Fear or exercised or played with the children, but no.)
Husband: You should go get gas.
Neno: Gas? Like... gas?
Husband: Yes. That stuff that makes the car drivy. Gas.
Neno: But... gas smells. And other people? Touched there. And... wait, isn't that YOUR job?
Husband: Well, I could leave you here with the children as they tear at their faces and wail for Kindermusik to start, or you could go get gas.
Neno: Yes! Good-bye then! See you soon!

So, I drive to the gas station. After much pausing and deliberation because I have been forever fucked up by That One Car I Owned with the Gas Tank on the Wrong Side, I pull up to the hosey thing and get out of my car. There is another car on the other side of the big tanky thing (see how I don't get the gas so much?). I bet myself that I know whoever it is on the other side. Because Town is small that way.

I win my bet. It's a girl who threatened to kick my ass in 6th grade. Why? Over a boy. Naturally. This is what I said to her, "I can't fight you today. I'm wearing my new Guess? jeans. But tomorrow I'll wear some Lees or some shit, and I'll totally TAKE YOU DOWN. Bitch." But the next day, we made up and were friends for a few months or something.

After much confusion over a totally unnecessary "start" button, I actually managed to buy gas, rewarded myself with a Kit Kat, and drove home.

The End.