For many years now I have been a little smug when I hear about people getting pulled over, ticketed, or accosted in any way by the police. I drive like a conservative old man, you see, and had never been pulled over in all my many driving days.
Let's go back. While I had my learner's permit, I was driving home in a stick-shift Nissan Sentra with my parents, when I had a small panic attack and nearly killed the three of us, as well as an innocently bystanding telephone pole. Luckily my genius father reached over and steered through my turn for me when I took my hands off of the steering wheel in fright while mid-turn to oncoming traffic.
This event lead me to my old-man driving ways. Sometimes I have cherished small daydreams about what it would be like to be pulled over. The lights would make my heartbeat intense, even worse because of my delicate condition. I would be speeding, naturally, driving myself to the hospital while in screaming, agonized labor, because Alex was in China shooting videos of tourists in the Forbidden City, and it couldn't be re-scheduled for something as trivial as the birth of our seventh child! The police officer would know instantly what to do and turn on his sirens and escort me to the hospital, relieved that he didn't have to deliver my child on the side of the road between here and Cedar City. I would not get a ticket, because of course, I was bringing a child into the world.
Aren't both of those stories more interesting than reality? My headlight was out, and Officer What-his-name was bored on a Sunday night? Yeah, I thought so, too. And I'm rather disenchanted that there was no blood, or birth, or at least breaking of the Law involved. I really need to live a little.