Twenty-five Miles

My husband leaves notes on my desk all the time. Like, could you send someone email, or check on this or check on that.
I came home from a meeting this afternoon and sat at my desk wondering where all the "stuff" came from. I was only gone about forty-five minutes.
I started sorting through the top layer and came across a  gas receipt.
I should have told you, that since we've been married I don't think I've ever put gas in my car. I know, I know.
Anyway, he always takes the car and fills it up.
As I was heading out the door today, he said, "when was the last time we put gas in your car?"
Gee honey, I don't know, that's your job. I shrugged my shoulders and headed out. He shouted, "you better check before you leave."
I got in, adjusted the seat belt, started the car and waited for the needle to move. And I waited. Hmmmm.
I went back into the house and told my husband I would be taking his car to my meeting.
I looked down at the gas receipt in my hand. In my husband's handwriting he had scrawled across the bottom. "The tank holds 20 gallons, you had 1.787 gallons of gas in your car."
So what's the big deal, honey? I could have driven at least twenty-five more miles.