effing up

Every time I pass a cop on the interstate I am convinced that in a matter of seconds, I will be pulled over, whether or not I am actually speeding when I pass him. And if the cop does pull out into traffic I am convinced that it is because of me and not because of the person who sped passed me and him a few seconds earlier. During the moments that I am convinced that I will be pulled over and handcuffed and put in prison for not speeding or driving drunk, my stomach does flips, my heart races. But every time, every time the cop whizzes past me in search of someone who has actually broken the law. And then a sigh of relief is exhaled from my mouth that would make even the most dramatic of drama queens sit back and take notes. The cops always wiz past me until, of course, today.

I saw him sitting before the toll plaza and I noted that I had been speeding so I slammed ever so gently on my brakes so as not to appear that I was slowing down just for him. I went through the tollgate and sped up to enter my lane and spotted him in the distance in the rear view mirror. His lights were not flashing, but I was convinced he was after me. I chilled, I purposely went under the speed limit and he came up behind me then got beside me and for awhile we were neck and neck and I played it cool, like nothing was happening, like he was just a regular old ford driving beside me. Then he slowed down, pulled behind me and turned on the lights. A lot of things were going through my mind, many of them are not ladylike words and thus I won’t repeat them. I sat there with a quizzical look on my face. I rolled down my window and looked at this officer in brown who was walking up to me like he had three heads. When he came to my window he said, “I pulled you over because your tags have expired.”

“What?” I said. It was 7:45am and my brain was not in a place where comprehension was possible. I tried to rack my brain and remember if I had recently paid for or received said tags and replaced them on my car. My mind was like a chalkboard on the first day of school, blizank. He then asked for my license and registration. I panicked and prayed to God that he would make that registration magically appear in the glove box because I can remember on several occasions seeing important papers on my desk or kitchen counter with the intention of taking them to the car.

The old registration was there and yet I knew that was not good enough. I had flubbed up. Somehow I forgot or did not receive the re-registration information and here I was at 7:45 in the morning, 30 minutes away from my house and 2 months behind on my car tags. The officer was nice enough. I just have to re-register and go to court and show him my documents and then he’ll let me off. I thanked him. I didn’t know what else to do. I apologized like he really cared and thanked him again.

In other unrelated-related news, I realized that two links on my sidebar do not, in fact, go to the places that I have wanted them to go to. I’m sorry and I’m quite ashamed that no one, not one of you who come here regularly or those who’ve trespassed and left, mentioned that things were wonky. I’ve fixed them and now you can go straight to them from here too:

you can't see me, but you can hear me.

why i blog.

I hope all is well with you and that your week is not as effed up as mine has started out.

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