I got pulled over for speeding today. The cop, who looked a good 10 years younger than me, told me to slow it down–especially since I had a little one in the car (the other two weren’t with me). I’m glad I didn’t get a ticket, but I somehow feel cheated.
Teenagers ALWAYS get tickets. People with awesome cars never get off with a warning. Artists with tattoos and crazy haircuts are going to pay the fine. If the cop thinks you’re young or you have money or an attitude or a superiority complex, you’re going to get a ticket.
This is the second time in 6 months that I’ve been pulled over and let go with a warning. So I’m thinking, even the police think I am so tame as to not even warrant their attention. I mean, they have to pull me over because I’m going 15 miles above the speed limit, but really, I’m a waste of their time.
As soon as the officer walked away I teared up. Partially because I hate getting in trouble, but also because the man assessed my minivan, my modest neighborhood, and my numerous car seats and thought, “poor lady. I’ll just let her go.”
I KNOW he called me “lady” in his head. Stupid kid.
I cried because I’m a middle aged stay-at-home mom listening to Christian rock in her minivan (you know, because the lyrics are o.k. for the kids) on her way in the middle of a workday to buy discount kids’ shoes at an outlet mall.
I am very blessed, lucky, and loved. I am also boring.