"Do you know what the speed limit is here, ma'am?"
"Actually, I don't, but I couldn't have been going more than 30."
"It is 25, and you were going 31. License, insurance and registration please."
Today I decided to visit the scene of the crime. Guess the posted speed limit.
We drove a scenic route to Virginia, taking the 301 roundabout to bypass construction and traffic in the Baltimore and D.C. region. The countryside was lovely, but the traffic lights weren't. At least we got to enjoy a mid-Atlantic lunch ordered on the touch screen at Wawa's. Arriving at the BJNR plantation in time for food (that would be any time...) we had a great reunion. The last time they saw EG he was working hard to self heal with the horizontal Mountain Dew therapy. He was vertical today, and took part in a grilled feast, lawn bowling and a trip to the ice cream shop. Friends like these are like family we choose.
2 hours into the online Driver Improvement Course. I told the officer it would be really hard to improve my driving. I've been licensed for 23 years without as much as a parking ticket. To make it worse, I was CERTAIN he was pulling over the speeding car in the right lane, who whipped by me as the officer signaled me to the curb. I drove toward him, seeing him with the radar, confident that the other driver was going to get it. I wonder if the determining factor was the year-old bumper sticker that we've kept on the car as a sign of national pride.
I experienced a moment of vehicular affection this morning. No matter how old I'm getting, I don't get tired of the wind blowing through my (thinning) hair, or feeling the rattle of the ponies under the hood (and the rattle of my bones). Even though I was driving to pick up my teenage daughter from a sleepover, in my imagination I'm a teenage hottie myself, independent, free, singing along to the radio and cruising topless.
