This morning, on the way to the gym with my boys, a state trooper pulled me over. He gave me the star treatment: flashing swirling lights and siren. I felt rather important. Especially when I pulled away because I thought the trooper was signaling me to park in a safer place. That’s when the sirens got super loud and made a noise I don’t think I’ve ever heard before.
I felt like a fugitive. It was rather exhilarating and not nearly as scary as I’d imagined. I’m thinking I’d make a good villain or superhero, or someone who dodges the justice system.
I take all the flashing lights as a sign from God that I shouldn’t exercise anymore. I don’t care if you don’t agree. I’m feeling very powerful after my run in with the law.
The second to the last time, I almost got a ticket, I’d done one of my famous incomplete stops at a stop sign, and was pulled over by a young officer. I batted my eyes and smiled. Then I shyly giggled (on purpose) and said, “Oh. My husband is going to be so upset with me!” Then I intentionally stared at the officer’s eyebrows and sighed.
He asked, as if I’d scripted his part myself, “Why?”
And I quickly said in a gag-worthy, sweet voice, “Because my husband is a volunteer firefighter and he’ll be so upset that I got a ticket.”
The officer’s body language eased then. He leaned in with a smile, and suddenly started talking to me like I was his good buddy. The next thing I knew, he’s waving me off with a cheer, and saying, “Don’t forget to tell Bob, I said hello.”
I was pondering on this situation this morning, and wondering if this scenario qualifies as manipulation.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I was only using my survival skills that I’d developed over the years in order to ease my way out of uncomfortable social situations. And since I’ve been easing my way out of uncomfortable situations with exact strategies my entire life—it was only natural to pull out the big actress guns and key words at an opportunistic moment.
This morning, after my three sons were mostly finished with their scoffing, finger-pointing, laughing, and commentary that sounded something like this: Ha, ha. You’re gonna get a ticket. You’re gonna get a ticket. He’s going to read you your rights. Mom’s in trouble, and after the trooper had waved me the go ahead, I said very calmly: “See, the officer saw that Mom had such a good driving record that he let me go.”
My oldest son quickly retorted: “How many times have they let you go?”
“Three, maybe four times,” I said with a wide happy grin.
There were some chuckles.
“Would you rather have a mom who drove super slow?” I asked.
“You’d still get pulled over,” my youngest answered.
“I think he let you off because he saw your handicapped sign and felt sorry for you,” my oldest offered.
I realized, looking myself over, that my son was probably right. A middle-aged, frumpily dressed, un-showered and disheveled-haired woman, with three boys in the van, just doesn’t have that I’m-so-sexy-don’t-give-me-a-ticket charm.
I spent the last five minutes of the ride lecturing my boys on never drinking and driving.
In the past three decades, I’ve been in three car accidents, none of them my fault. Twice, old ladies hit me. Seriously old, the last one was. I had to do a triple-take of her driver’s license, after she sideswiped my van running a red light. 1913! I kept thinking I was reading the birthdate wrong.
Only I would get hit by a ninety-eight year old woman! Statistically how many people in their late nineties are still driving? Or even alive? The other time an old lady spun out on the freeway and hit me head on in the fast lane. But I think she was in her forties, then. I’m in my forties now. Back then, when I was nineteen, she seemed super old.
The time after that, I was rear ended at high-speed on the highway by a man who not only had no driver’s license but who was in the country illegally. He was very apologetic.
I’m certain there are angels up somewhere, like in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, whom get a good kick out of watching my life play out.
Sometimes I think I am some pawn in the Matrix, or, at minimum, a major character in some crazy person’s dream.
Speaking of cars. I was a bit naïve a few years back, when I was still single.
I like words. I tend to obsess. And when I bought a red Mustang on a whim, only because I thought the Mustang was pretty, I obsessed about the license plate for three days straight. I wanted the plates to be personalized and charming, and creative. I came up with several ideas. I can still see the long list, and picture myself asking people’s advice. Oh, the old me was so embarrassingly innocent.
It came down to two choices: Red Apple (I was a teacher) or FASTEN8.
I chose FASTEN8 because I thought the word was so clever. To me, the fasten meant to fasten a seatbelt, and the 8 was one of my favorite numbers. And I thought my car was fascinating, and actually that my whole creation of FASTEN8 was fantastic!
My husband was the one who finally explained to me, some two years later, why men would slow down, nod their head and wink at me, when I was driving my Mustang. I thought the looks were because of the nifty spoiler I put on the end of my car or the new moonroof. Did I mention I was obsessed with my car?
My husband was kind when he explained: “When people read FASTEN8, Honey, they aren’t thinking about seatbelts and how clever you are.”
“They aren’t? What are they thinking of then?”
Insert what you think my husband said here: ___________________________
“Oh? Oh. OH!!!!”
I don’t personalize my license plates anymore.
Things LV wanted me to briefly mention about the trip to the gym today:
- Why aren’t spider veins in fashion? Almost all the naked ladies in the locker room have them on their legs.
- Why do all the naked people choose to not shut the shower curtain when they shower? It’s one quick pull of the curtain.
- Oh, this is what a steam room is like. I can’t see. I can’t breathe. Where is the door? I’m getting flashbacks of that bathroom scene in Charlie’s Angels where they tried to kill Jacqueline Smith with steam! At least I won’t see any naked people, if they come in here.
- Is this what swimmer’s ears feels like? Can I die of swimmer’s ear? Everything is echoing. “Helloooo.”
- As long as I keep my eyes closed, no naked people will come into the whirlpool.
- I’m sexy and I know it! I work out!
Sponge Bob I’m Sexy and I Know It!
31 Jokes for Nerds!