I was pulled over for speeding late this morning on the way home from piano lessons. Why doesn’t the baby cry you want her to?
Actually, the very nice police officer didn’t play any games. He told me right away why he pulled me over, briefly chastised me for speeding with kids in the car (because 48 mph on a very wide, very straight, four lane road with a ridiculous 35 mph limit is dangerous, I guess), checked to see if my registration and insurance were up to date, asked if all the kids were mine, and then took my license back to his car to make sure I wasn’t wanted for felonies in ten states.
I was pretty sure I’d only get a warning, since he didn’t take the car info. My kids were very excited at the whole spectacle, and I think were a tad disappointed that nothing more dramatic then a cursory order to “Slow down” occurred.
As we pulled away, I asked who was going to tattle on me to their father. The response was a chorus of gleeful “Me!”
“Does he really need to know about this?” I asked.
“Yes!” Again, a happy, unanimous response.
So much for not biting the hand that feeds you.
For the record, I don’t keep secrets from my husband, and he wouldn’t be (wasn’t) particularly upset by this anyway.