Ode to My Buta Gas Tank


Dear Buta Gas Tank,

Usually I am a big fan of you. You allow me to make food for my family, have a hot shower and most importantly, make coffee in the morning. But every once in awhile, you make me so crazy I could lose my mind. I just have one question for you. Why do you ALWAYS wait until my husband is traveling to run out of gas? It never fails. It’s as if you two made a funny little pact and set up a little camera to see how well I would react. Do you know how unfunny it is to haul 3 kids to the store in order to drag your 75 lbs self back to my house by myself? And then, once my nerves are pretty much completely fried, you except me to unhook the empty one and attach another one to my stove. Do you know that this takes almost superhuman strength? Why, you ask, little buta tank? Because if I don’t hook it up correctly and it is leaking, there is a chance it will explode and set our house on fire. I can’t really handle that type of pressure in my life. I have way bigger fish to fry; my kids just poured milk all over the floor.

I don’t want to be mean and I know I shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds me, but please please be more considerate next time.

Love Always,


P.S. I have to say that a little part of my thanks you, because I now have a legitimate excuse to eat out for the next 2 nights.



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