GAS WOES

I have my husband figured out and the truth of the matter is he knows me pretty well too.  If he's going out the door and I say "oh by the way..."  he finishes off my sentence with "the car needs gas."  He is undoubtedly correct.  He thinks it's because I have an aversion to pumping gas and in a way he would be right but mostly it's because I never look at the fuel gauge.  He finds this hard to believe but it's true.
"How much gas is in the car?" he'll sometimes ask me when I get home from town and I'll reply "I don't know."  He cannot fathom this much in the same way that I cannot comprehend the fact that he does not know which drawer the can opener belongs in.  It doesn't cause problems, we just deal with it.  He is a sweetheart and for the most part keeps the car filled up for me.  Contrary to his opinion I do fill the car up from time to time although admittedly I do not enjoy it especially in the winter.  Whatever happened to full service gas stations?
Today I drove into town knowing that the truck was just about on empty (thanks Nathan) so I had to stop and fill up.  So there I stood in the cold and damp while my very thirsty truck guzzled down $150 in fuel, reading all the warnings posted on the pump about cell phone use, sparks, open flame, etc. to help pass the time. Finally the pump stopped but as I withdrew the nozzle from the tank it stopped short and wouldn't come out.  I tried and I tried and it wouldn't budge.  I had Emily get out of the truck and she had a go.  After no success we went into the store and the lady behind the counter came out and attempted to remove it with no luck.  She ended up calling a technician who arrived a short while later and after a few minutes he was able to pull it free.  I was nervous the whole time he was yanking on it after all I had just finished reading the warnings about the extreme caution to be used around the pumps.  What if it caused a spark and we all ended up being on the evening news because of the ensuing explosion?

Ian is already giving me a hard time about it, joking about how he'll have to teach me how to fill the car with gas, yada, yada, yada.  I'm okay with that because the next time we need gas I am just going to smile at him innocently and tell him that maybe it's not a good idea for me to fill it up considering the trauma of my last experience.  I'm clearly not capable.