The equinox is a glass box of emotion.
So after our Words with Friends obsession, I always told myself I wouldn’t go too crazy blogging about a single subject. Shit gets old. Then, this morning happened, and I decided fuck that, because fuck me, and fuck my life.
That’s a lot of ‘f’ bombs this early. Sorry if you haven’t had your coffee yet. I haven’t either. Bear with me.
I’m driving to work this morning. BabyDaddy and I got into a discussion before I left, plus I had to shower, and change, and then of course, I had to be late. Leaving the house at 9:45 when you’re supposed to be at work at 9:45 definitely means you’re late.
I only live five minutes away from my office, so I’m speeding like what, thinking that even though I will be late, I will not be crazy late. It’s all subjective.
I speed down my street. Run a stop sign. Speed down that street. Then I see him.
I slam my brakes. Hard. They squeal. But I completely stop, before the sign. It’s okay, guys, it’s still legal. I proceed around the corner at a snail’s pace. I’m not taking my eyes off of the police car. I head down the next street, heart racing.
Don’t pull me over, Popo… I think to myself. I round the street to be out of view of the Police car. I figure I’m safe now that I’m out of range.
You know what’s good to do right after you’ve slid out of the grasp of the law? Tweet.
I’m typing the tweet, and all set to hit send when I hear it. The lights flash, the siren makes this lonely sounding single:
And then the cop is pulling me over.
The cop comes up. My window is open. This will only end badly.
“Clocked you going pretty quickly there,” he tells me. “Were you speeding?”
Yes, I think. “I think a little,” I tell him instead. My voice is wavering. I glance down and my hands are shaking…on my lit up, open to twatting phone.
“Were you texting there?”
I’m willing myself to lie, but I can’t do it. “…Yes…” I mumble. Then, I feel it. Floodgates open.
This is not crying. No. This is emotionally breaking down in front of a cop who doesn’t seem to have the ability to grow a moustache, even though he’s trying really hard.
“I’m sorry I was texting! I didn’t mean to!”
“Is your seatbelt unbuckled?”
I look down. It definitely. I feel like I can’t lie, since he can see it and all.
“I’m…I’m…sorry I’m late for work and I’m having a hard day already and I didn’t even get coffee and I didn’t mean to speed I’m sorry!” It all just rolls out in a mixture of tears and hiccups and hysteria. The cop is so stunned by the amount of words and tears and noises coming out of me that he actually steps back from my car.
-And I still can’t stop. “Please don’t ticket me, I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll never speed again! My car is falling apart anyway, I probably won’t be able to speed! And I have to pay for my son’s school next week, WHAT IF THEY KICK HIM OUT OF SCHOOL BECAUSE MOMMY PAID FOR A SPEEDING TICKET WITH HIS TUITION?!”
I’m embarrassed to say that I did actually yell that.
The cop is legitimately three feet away from me now. “Honey, calm down.”
“I just need you to buckle your seatbelt.”
Hiccup. Nod. Click.
“And no more speeding, okay? You want to get that little boy to school safe.”
Nod emphatically. Hiccup. Sob. Nod more.
“Go on then. Get to work. Tell your boss it’s my fault.”
He backs away like he’s afraid I’ll explode with emotion.
I stare after him. I’m still a little wobbly, and hiccup-y, and I have that weird feeling where my eyes feel like they’ve dried out. Did I just get out of a ticket? By crying hysterically until the officer ran away?
I see the lights flash on once and the officer waves at me as he drives past.
Holy sweet Jesus. I did.
Oh, and then, just for future reference? Clearly, by the twat above, I did send the twatter.