License To Drive: Permission To Rant

The birthday came and went without the remotest synapse firing in my brain of whether my driver license was in need of renewal. Last time I renewed it, I was 10 years younger than now, a helluva lot more organized, lucked into an actually kind of cute photo on it, and better at meeting deadlines. So, naturally, now that I have an All Destination VIP Pass on the Flaky Train, I hear “whoop, whoop” all up in my car’s rear end.

“Am I getting popped?”

“Yes, Mom, you are,” comes the reply from the backseat. Déjà vu all over again. What is it about me that attracts law enforcement? Very fucked up craptacular. This time, a female Officer Krupke materializes in my rearview mirror just as I was pulling into my destination.

Now, driving alone and being snared by law enforcement’s finest would not have been, in and of itself, humiliating. No, it would have been an angry, slap-myself-in-the-forehead episode, and after beating myself up for a couple of hours and that third comforting cocktail, I’d be back all balanced out and smiling.

I’d just furtively pay the fine from my secret manicure/pedicure/wine/facial/clothes  Church Tithe fund and vow to tell no one. NO ONE! Humiliation averted for yet another day! Huzzah!

But NOOOO, the fickle fates just HAD to have me transporting teenage girlies who thought this was so damn funny witnesses. To wit, my flipping’ inappropriately giggling daughter and her wait until my Dad and Twitter hears about this BFF, the daughter of a county sheriff’s deputy.

Humiliation thus amped to the tenth power, tears and slamming things around to follow.

Nervous fidgeting in the back seat and suppressed hysterical laughter anxious whispers –

“Go get your Dad!”

“I can’t. He’s not home!”

“Oh damn it. Mom you’re on your own.”

Cha-CHING! Expired License by two weeks. Citation. Bloody hell, I was so close to getting that manicure.

And the Officer wanted to know how I was going to get my car home, about two blocks away, since “you can’t drive with an expired license.”

“Does the girl drive yet?”

“Yes, I can drive!” chirped “the girl” oh shit she didn’t just say that helpfully from the back seat.

My head snapped around and I transfixed Little Miss Loose Lips with a volcanic stare –

“She does not have her permit yet, so no she CAN’T drive even though I am a bad, bad Mom and let her tool around her grandparents gated community quite often just for fun.”

“Ok. I am going to go now to where I picked you up on that street back there where I will be picking off more soccer moms until my monthly quota is met and the Sheriff can buy that shiny new helicopter he's been wanting  and I don’t want to see you driving this car. You get it?” *wink*

“Got it”

I snuck the Cruiser home avoiding “that street back there” so she wouldn’t have to compromise her integrity, and plotted my trip to the Department of Motor Vehicles Driver’s License seething lava pond from the depths of hell office to renew my license.

To be continued…