Chips

I just got a speeding ticket.  I was on my way to drop the kids at grandma’s house while I bring the car to the shop.  Yes, my new minivan is already having issues.  At speeds of 60 miles per hour or more the wheel shakes like Charlie Sheen when he isn’t “winning.”   The mechanic at the dealer looked at me like I had three heads when I described the problem.   “You just bought the car.”  Yes, Sike!   I am making it up.  I would love nothing more than to waste an afternoon at your auto body shop reading magazines from 1999 and drinking coffee that tastes like it was brewed in an engine.   

I was less than a mile from my in-law’s when I saw the flashing lights.  My older son started to panic.  Clearly, he has seen too many crime movies.   I’m pretty sure my mug wasn’t featured on America’s Most Wanted.  The officer asked me if I knew why he pulled me over.  You like my nail polish and want to know the color?  You wanted to see how the movie playing in my minivan ended? Nope.

 He seemed like a nice man.  I thought he was going to give me warning.  Then, he asked my name.  Clearly, this fella  wasn’t fond of our family crest.    He confirmed my name, grinned and said “I will be just a minute.”   Really?  You don’t have anything better to do than chase down moms in minivans?  I’m sure that motley crew hanging out on the corner of Main Street is selling cookies.  Sure enough he wrote me a ticket and dictated instructions about a court date.   In my most motherly voice I replied, “Thank you so much sir.  I sure hope you catch some real criminals today.” 

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