Stopping to get gas, I noted the fuel gauge as I hopped out of the car.  One quarter tank of gas remained.  I knew just about how much fuel it would take to top off the tank.

As my boys left the car, I figured that I would impress them.  “Hey guys, I bet it will take ten gallons of gas to fill up the tank.”

I pumped the gas and watched anxiously as the numbers grew.  One gallon…  two gallons…  The boys had sort of a casual interest in my game, but I persisted.  Seven gallons…  eight gallons…  As I got closer, my excitement grew.  Nine gallons…  I was growing giddy.  Then, it stopped.  Stopped short of ten gallons.  I topped off the tank.  Still short of ten gallons.  Any more would spill on the ground.  I had a final tally.

9.922 gallons.  I pointed proudly at the total and remarked, “Pretty close to ten gallons.”  My boys glanced up and said with oh such sting, “Nope.  Fail.”

Ouch.  I guess we were using the “Price is Right” rules.  A universal standard.  Closest number without going over wins.

Shucks.  Well at least, I always remember to have my pets spayed or neutered.  Bob Barker would be kinda proud.

“Kindness and sensitivity, come on down!”