This morning was crazy.
My sister’s (and my) dog, Pinny Lane, had to go to the hospital to get an ultrasound. No, she’s not expecting. Lately her liver levels have been a little elevated, so BB wanted to make sure everything was okay by taking her to a specialist.
So after dropping of a trembling min-pin at the doggy hospital and my dad back at work (he helped me wrangle the four-legged baby) I headed back to the apartment.
I should let it be known that during this time, I downed a liter of water and hadn’t been in the vicinity of a bathroom for over an hour. And, Hermione felt it necessary to move around, making me do the seated version of the “I gotta go” dance.
I was literally less than a quarter of a mile from home when I saw something behind me. Yes, it was red and blue lights of a motorcycle policeman.
I pulled into the Walgreens parking lot, got out my license and registration and hoped the cop was nice.
The officer came up to my window and said, “I stopped you because you were going 52 and it’s a 40 mile per hour zone.” (Oops!)
And, before I knew what I was saying, these words came out of my mouth: “I’m sorry; I’ve got a baby pushing on my bladder.”
Immediately I regretted that. I’m not going to lie; I’ve flirted to get out of a ticket. I’ve cracked jokes to get out of a ticket. And yes, I’ve even lied. (My mother will be scandalized when she reads this.) But I didn’t think I’d use my pregnancy to get out of a ticket. I was embarrassed that I basically told this cop I had to pee and that’s why I had a lead foot.
But, thankfully, the cop laughed and said: “That’s not a good feeling.”
So, again, I spoke without thinking: “Oh, you’ve had first-hand experience with this?”
Which, praise the Lord, made him laugh again. We joked back and forth about the possibility of him being pregnant and, if he has that ability, he needs to have a long discussion with his parents about his childhood. As he took my info back to his bike, I started praying: Please don’t let him give me a ticket, please don’t let him give me a ticket!
And, much to my delight, he came back, handed me my license and said: “I’d better not let you wait any longer. Be safe out there.”
After he sped away, I gave Hermione a high-five for saving me from a $200 speeding ticket, and went home.
Moral of the story? Pregnancy or no pregnancy: next time you get pulled over; try to make the cop laugh. Or, you know, don’t speed in the first place. Whichever.