Have you ever wondered who that annoying little old lady was that you always seem to get stuck behind in traffic when you’re running late?
Well guess who? It’s me or, failing that, someone gawd-awful like me.
That’s why when I got a ticket for speeding yesterday — yes, you read that right SPEEDING as in going TOO FAST — I was floored (and flooring it apparently, but I’ll tell you about that part later).
This is so unlike me.
To illustrate my normal driving habits, here’s the conversation that transpired between my son and I while he was a passenger in my car on a Christmas Eve shopping expedition:
Why is everybody honking?
Well, maybe it’s because you are going a little too slow.
Oh you mean they are honking at me?
I think so, Mom.
And of course I NEVER drive when 37 (my husband) and I are going somewhere.
Why? Because it makes me mad when he starts complaining that I’m driving too slow. So to avoid conflict, I just let him drive and then I can complain about how he drives too fast — for I find I’m far more comfortable in the role of complainer than complainee.
Not only do I drive slow, but I’m also a Huge Driving Coward.
I’ve got a “thing” about changing lanes in that I’d rather not. So I try to get in the lane I think I’m going to need to be in well in advance. But my planning never pays off. Usually the lane I think I need to be in is the wrong one — so I have to crowd into the one I actually need to be in at the very last second.
This tends to make people a tad bit honkish and road ragey. What I really need is a sign that says “sorry” to hold up when stuff like this happens.
Anyway, getting back to my speeding ticket
Yesterday I was driving down this road that was right next to the freeway. It was just going along beside the freeway but wasn’t actually a part of the freeway in that there was a chain link fence dividing me from the freeway itself.
Naturally, everybody on the freeway was going at least 60 so I guess I just joined in.
It was peer pressure I tell ya!
Next thing you know, I look down at my speedometer and it said 61 (even though the cop said he clocked me at 59 – I didn’t correct him . . . why quibble?)
In my own defense, I only was going 61 for only about five seconds when I suddenly realized what I was doing — and immediately slowed down to 40 (the speed limit) on my own accord. I didn’t even see the cop until 30 seconds later when he finally managed to quit eating my dust as it were.
First thing I did was text my son that his old mammy still had it in her and just got nailed by The Fuzz for speeding!
This boggled his mind enough to make the sting of the upcoming fine hurt just a little less.
As for breaking the news to 37?
Well I figure the ticket should arrive sometime around his birthday. And since he has always wanted me to drive faster, I think my speeding ticket might make a very nice birthday gift, don’t you?
Until next time, I love you