That same person who scolded me about drag racing happened to be the instructor a few years later when my speed demon hind end was ordered to attend driving school.
Most of my tickets are for speeding. But I have also been popped for rolling through stop signs.
And for heaven’s sake, I got one of those tickets right in front of where I lived.
But I am trying to clean up my act. For example, I only go over the speed limit when following truckers.
When I was younger I also enjoyed flirting around with the truck drivers, especially on a long road trip.
But now I am old and boobless, and I drive an unsexy SUV.
On a recent long drive I did flirt around with a cute trucker. With my luck I could only assume that he was an escaped prisoner, honking his way to freedom in a stolen 18-wheeler.
Anyway, when I saw the police I was convinced that I was once again caught for the use of my heavy right foot. But instead, the officer passed me and stopped my boyfriend trucker.
As soon as he was pulled over I broke up with him ... in my head.
After all, he should have listened on his radio when fellow truckers offered cop sightings. I am irresponsible enough. I don’t need an irresponsible guy with a bad driving record like mine. I would at least expect him to have lower car insurance, you know. So that was that. Our love affair was over.
I still have some pain in my back, neck and chest. I knew I should have picked a place a few miles back to rest. But I was trying to get farther down the road.
One state later, the flashing lights in the rearview mirror were for me. And I cannot share in the newspaper what I said to myself about that.
“Do you know why I stopped you?” the officer asked.
Well, I saw him a few miles back. So, actually, no, I had no idea why I was stopped by a cop with a beautiful smile and nice, muscular arms. I was not speeding.
“What were you doing?” he asked.
“I was driving back to Indiana,” I said in a sugar-drops-off-my-elbows voice.
“What else were you doing?” He snorted.
“I was rubbing my neck and my side,” I said honestly.
“You were also swerving,” the officer said.
“Didn’t you see me?”
“Yes, I saw you,” I nodded. “Do you really think I would swerve in front of you?”
To make an ugly story short, I got a big fat ticket for swerving. So while I pulled off the interstate to rest and swallow some Tylenol, I had a snot festival.
After all, I wasn’t sure I could drive my car and bawl my face off at the same time without swerving.
I also decided that he really didn’t have a pretty smile. He looked more like a horse head stuck on a police officer’s uniform. And those muscles, well, he probably built up his arms by writing all kinds of tickets.
And then karma came to my mind. I should have been pulled over right along with my ex-boyfriend trucker. So now I had what I deserved … all $183 worth.