Sometimes I wonder if I married into the wrong profession. My hubby is a good man whom I love dearly. He is a Petroleum Geologist (no he does not control gas prices, so ease up a little), but sometimes I wonder if he should have been a cop. It's a weird thought, but I attract cops like white on rice so in my brain it makes sense.
On average, I get pulled over at least once a month. Over the past six years I have collected a vast pile of warnings from various states. For the record, I have no tickets (yet). I usually get pulled over for really dumb things like failure to use my turn signal, pulling into the wrong lane and going two over the speed limit (it was a school zone, so it was justified). Lately, I have been running into the cops that pull me over in places like Home Depot and the grocery store. They are awfully jovial and nice which makes me think they might have my license plates tagged and I am the rabbit in a twisted Marco Polo game to skunk me out. Is that even allowed? I drive a dedicated mom-mobile, a six year old white Subaru Forester that just screams "middle aged with kids". I should be blending in, but no, I am a moving beacon that just begs for cops to turn on their sirens and chase me down.
Yesterday I was pulled over. He was buff, sweet and younger than the previous cops. I was in shock because I took the truck this time for the very reason of flying under the radar.
In my defense, the truck is awesome. The sound system makes me shiver with delight and the bass makes the dashboard vibrate. I had the sunroof wide open, the windows down and was going voluntarily deaf jamming to my music. He sited me for not signaling to change lanes and wanted to let me know that my music was too loud making it difficult for me to hear emergency vehicles. What? My music is not loud enough? It goes louder ya know! Just let me turn up my hearing aide... Yeesh, I heard his sirens just fine. I didn't get a warning this time which bummed me out. I have a nice collection growing.
On the way home I stopped in at Braums for a gallon of milk. Braums is a southern Dairy Queen with a grocery mart for those who need to justify their ice cream purchase. Sitting in the eating area were a gaggle of cops. Groan. I tried not to make eye contact, but curiosity won over, though this time they weren't cops, they were US Marshals and they we smiling right at me. Cue freak out especially when one of them winked.
With my record with cops, I'm doomed.