Yesterday I wrote a weeping post about saying a premature good-bye to my childhood a full 31 year ago.
The day before, I recounted backing into a car at my child’s school.
So what do you think I can say today to match the drama and pathos of the prior days? Anyone?
***I’ll give you five seconds to think***
I had to pick up my teenagers from the YMCA at noon. The problem was that this task fell during my work-shift. And my husband was still out of town. I signed on to the computer at 11:15 a.m., forty-five minutes before my shift began, instant-messaged my supervisor to tell her I’d be putting in time earlier so I could leave for a bit to pick up my kids. She pointed out how nice it might have been if only I had given her warning so she could have someone covering my shift and I apologized for the collapse of my brain and blamed it on the absence of my husband.
And then, as we chatted, I realized that my shift actually started at 11 a.m., not noon, and that I was actually fifteen minutes late, not forty-five minutes early. I’ve had this shift for months, but for some reason today I was convinced that my shift was from noon until 5 p.m.
At noon, off I drove with two 5-year olds in the back, safely buckled into booster seats. I was in a huge rush–I needed to pick up the boys and get the little guy delivered to kindergarten by 12:30 p.m. I thought I’d stop at McDonald’s on the way to feed everyone a quick, on-the-run lunch. This plan depended on speed and cunning.
A mile from my house, I heard that blood-curdling sound of a police siren. A glance in my rear-view mirror confirmed my fear. He was directly behind me and I knew that I was the criminal. He strolled to my window and said, “The speed limit along Rigney is 25. I clocked you going 37.”
I handed over my license, registration and proof of insurance. He warned me to stay in the car and returned to his vehicle to check to see if I had warrants out for my arrest and if I were a habitual offender. Thank God he didn’t know about my near hit-and-run two days earlier. After a few minutes, he returned, handed over my paperwork and with a wink said, “Mrs. ____, you need to slow it down.”
The weird thing is that on my two prior speeding tickets (over 15 years ago), both were the result of my going 37 mph in a 25 mph zone.
At least I’m consistent.