CRIPES it's cold this morning! Wind. Blowing snow. I felt that wind all the way through my windpants AND my Miley Cyrus leggings. Hug a crossing guard if you come across one today.
Speaking of snow, there was that little run-in with the law over the weekend...
We were returning home after a nice time in the big city, and I felt him before I saw him. I was driving the rocking van - Chaco and Wolfgang are NOT insured to drive it, do you know what insurance premiums are for 18 and 16 year-old males?!? Anyway, I felt this dark sinister SUV sort of sidle up beside me, like it's going to pass. Instead, it pulls back and falls in behind me.
I check my rear view and say to myself, "Frick it's a cop!" all the while exuding an outward calm. More specifically, it's a county Sherrif's deputy in a dark sinister SUV. The lights come alive and start a-flashin'.
I signal to indicate that I intend to pull over, but I know I have to stall. I tell Magnum, "We're being pulled over, you know what to do". Instantly, he springs into action and checks the hidden compartments in the door panels. Then he efficiently disperses the extra loose bags of cocaine to each of the kids, and they adeptly tuck them into their properly pre-determined orifices. Well trained, they are. Once I'm confident that the contraband is properly secured, I slow to a stop on the shoulder. I put on my boring housewife persona while watching in the rear view as the deputy approaches.
Okay that last paragraph? It didn't really happen much like that. It was more just me slowing and pulling over while various earbuds began popping out with everybody saying, "Why we stopping?" It's just that this story is, in reality, quite boring and a little embarrassing, hence the embellishment...
The deputy, he was very Bruce Willis. Think tough-looking and hairless. He speaks through the passenger window and tells us that our registration sticker is expired SINCE *COUGH* AUGUST.
He takes my license and the van registration and returns to the dark sinister SUV. I know precisely the database he is checking. I am, after all, a woman of the law. Well, a highly sporadic volunteer at best, but still.
He returns and tells us he's confirmed that our registration is up-to-date, but we really need to put the sticker on. Next time, it will be a $95 fine.
The remainder of the drive is uneventful, and once we get home, Magnum thoroughly adheres the registration sticker that's been in the kitchen basket SINCE *COUGH* AUGUST. Then, he does similar with the registration sticker for the Subaru. *sigh*
With that, we invite the neighbors and all of their kids over for a wild night of narcotics. No one has slept since Friday.