Be Sure Your [Husband's] Sin Will Find You

by - October 25, 2013

Well, it happened.  I knew it would.  There's no running from the law. 

The problem is that it happened to me when it should have been him.

And it was on the main street where everyone could see - because that's the kind of luck I roll.

And it was a lady cop so pulling a big flirt out of my holster wasn't really an option.

As I climbed into the car that morning I actually thought: just go straight to work - you don't need a coffee.  But then I got to the end of the driveway and it turned out I did need a coffee and so, instead of turning left I turned right.  The lesson?   
Coffee = busted!

Everyone runs their household differently, splits responsibility differently, manages differently.  We are no exception.  And it just so happens that all things car-related fall under his umbrella - and it just so happens that our license plate tag expired in June - and it just so happens that he hasn't taken care of it yet - AND IT JUST SO HAPPENS THAT I'M THE ONE WHO GOT WRITTEN UP!!!!


She lumbers up to the side of my car and announces herself.  "West Grey Police." All staunch and stern.

"Morning," I say, pretending I can't see the lady leaning against the brick wall outside the hairdressers, nursing her travel mug and cigarette, enjoying the public shaming of the blond in the passat.

"I pulled you over this morning because your tag is expired."

"Oh," (take a millisecond to consider the 'my husband said he was taking care of that & I'm just too sweet and simple to be responsible for such a thing' route and deciding that this is a wear-the-pants-with-a-gun-attached kind of women standing at my window - not some cry-during-Tim-Horton's-commercials kind of softee - and I'm not all that sweet and simple anyway, so...) "Yeah."  Own it.  Like a boss.

"Can I get your license, registration and insurance please?"

 I dig them out and hand them over and she tells me she'll be back.  "Thank you," I say.  Like an idiot.

Twelve minutes.  And somehow hairdress-shop-lady manages to suck her cigarette back so slowly that she stands there for most of it.

"I'm citing you today for the tag..." And she goes on to explain the fifteen days and 'make sure you get that tag updated' and 'if you want to plead not guilty....'

Nope.  I'm absolutely guilty.  Signed, sealed, and delivered.

"You drive safe now," she says and if she'd tipped her hat it would have been perfect.

By this point I'm late for staff meeting so I text the boss man:
Me: I was pulled over in Durham & because I am such a criminal they've only just let me go...I'll be there as soon as I can. Sorry! :(
Him: Will u still be able to work with children?
Me: Not a chance 

I suppose I could get really upset.  I could kick and scream.  I could cry.  I could refuse to do laundry for the rest of eternity like a foot-stomping toddler...

But where would that get me?  Not very far and nowhere very happy. 

So life goes on and we'll pay the $105 fine and buy our new tag and keep on loving each other.

{All the while, in the secret recesses of my diabolical big-idea-dungeon, I will be building a wickedly sinful app that delivers a shock for every hour a husbands responsibility wanes...}

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  1. Sorry Alanna, hope things improve for you!

  2. welcome to the ' I got a ticket ' club

  3. I would be happy to test that app for you.

    1. I'll be sure to send it to you when I come out of my dungeon ;)

  4. Wonderfully therapeutic to write about such frustrations!


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