Yesterday morning, I was running around doing a bazillion errands; I'm speaking at Blogalicious today, and had to fly to Miami. (And, yes, this after the tsunami of guilt I experienced at the last blog conference). I left the car parked illegally with the blinkers on to run into the shoe-repair store. When I came out five minutes later, a traffic officer was standing in front of my car, arms folded across his chest.
"I'm sorry," I blurted.
"Don't be sorry!" he said. Pause. "I waited for you. I knew you were a mom. And you are!"
Er, wha?! I mean, I was driving a minivan, I was wearing sweats and I did have my hair in a ponytail, but, whoa. I would have rather gotten the ticket and be told I looked like Eva Mendes.
It's official: I'm mommified.
The officer was being kind and all, so I couldn't really complain or try to sue him for defamation.
But he wouldn't stop talking.
"I wouldn't be caught dead in that car," he informed me.
"Oh, my husband loves it!" I said.
"What kind of guy are you married to?!" he asked.
I feared he might start insulting the kids next, so I politely excused myself and drove home. Then I took a flight to Miami, met a lovely woman, Toni, on the shuttle bus to the hotel, and went out for 11:00 p.m. wine and sushi with her and her pal Deidre tonight. Wild and crazy, eh?
If only that officer could have seen me.
