Go, Speed Racer

I got pulled over by a police officer the other day for speeding. It's been forever since I last got pulled over by a cop because since becoming a mother I've gotten pokey in my driving. It's not like I have anywhere especially important to get to in a hurry. Play group? Pssh. If I'm late that's just a few minutes less I have to pretend to care about where little Timmy's mom got those fabulous organic crackers she brought for snack time.

Yeah, the playgroup thing. It's wearing thin. Thankfully it's almost summer and soon I won't have to deal with all that, at least until fall. I'll deal with the dread then.

What was my point?

Oh, yeah. Me. Surly police officer. Toddler in the back seat asking, "Who dat? Who dat, Mama? Who DAT??". Flashing blue lights. Less than 400 yards away from my house. Good times.

And did I mention that my mother in law was about fifteen minutes away? Or that I still hadn't fed my kid her dinner? Or the dogs theirs? And that I had to be at work in less than an hour?

So I was a-speeding.

Yes, the normally pokey little Mrs. Chicky was putting the pedal to the metal - I can admit that - because I had less than an hour to take my kid with me to make copies for my class and get back home. You would think that after the last fiasco at the copy place I wouldn't have procrastinated this long. But you if you thought that you obviously don't know me too well. I am the Queen of Procrastination. The High Sovereign of the land of Dilly, Dally, and Dawdle.

(But this trip did go 100% better than the last. Why? Rice cakes and a stroller. Who knew?)

The officer who pulled me over told me I was going 45 in a posted 30 MPH zone. Which was crap - that was the jackass who was riding my ass who pulled off onto another street just as the cop hit his blues - but who was I to argue?

So there we sat, me trying to explain to Chicky what was going on while trying not to look at the clock, waiting for the officer to deliver my sentence. The minutes ticked away.

Okay, don't have time to make her chicken for dinner. Alright, now I won't have time to make mac and cheese. Well, maybe I'll have time to make her a hot dog, but no vegetables. Fine, I'll just throw some Cheerios on the floor and let Chicky and the dogs have at it.

All that waiting and he gave me a warning. A warning! Hurrah! (But, c'mon, wtf. He made me wait all that time for a warning) Now I'll let you, gentle reader, decide why Officer McGrumpy only gave me a warning:

a. His computer wasn't working so he didn't know that I was wanted in three states.
b. He liked that I was wearing a Red Sox cap - yes, I live in that thing - and felt a kinship with a fellow member of Red Sox Nation.
c. The dumb blonde Gee, Officer, I didn't know I was speeding hee hee act worked like a charm.
d. He thinks moms, especially those who don't care enough to do their own hair, are hot.
e. He saw the police sticker (given to me by my FIL, the retired Lieutenant) in my window.

I don't really know why he didn't give me a ticket, though I suspect it was probably E, all I know is that as soon as he was out of sight I hauled ass back home (I know, I know) and got Chicky some food just as my MIL pulled up in front of my house. Crisis barely averted. I promise, next time I won't wait so long before having to get to the copy store. Unless my loyal subjects decide to make me the high priestess of Shilly-Shally and Stall. I bet I wouldn't have to worry about playgroup then.