Hi I Say Brightly

It is a gorgeous spring day, there are greens on both sides of the road. The smells are fantastic, and my hair is blowing like I’m on a cycle. I’m actually driving my new purple trans am, windows down, music blaring. The white racing stripes might have been a bit much, but Not for me. The sun is beaming on us with magic happy. BRRRR BRRRR GRRRR Should I try to outrun him? He’s gaining on me fast. I glance at speedometer. Swear. 82 m.p.h. This is what happens when I listen to the Oldies. I pull off, waiting, heart beating fast. Lanky patrolman pulls himself out of car, gets younger as he gets closer. “Hi,” I say, brightly. He says, “License and registration, Ma’am.” He is carrying his ticket pad, and a pen. My hands are shaking as I start stammering nonsense. He studies my license a second, says, “Just a minute, Ma’am,” Walks back to his car, slides in, sits down, spends an hour or two in there. I get worried I might have accidentally handed him my big-limit Visa card. My heart is thudding, as I watch him laboriously walk back to my Trans Am Who is not feeling so fine and foxy now. “It’s your fault!” I tell her. “You did this!” “You were going 81,” he tells me. Eighty-two, I wisely don’t say. “I am giving you an opportunity to slow down, and today, I’m giving you a warning,” he says. No smile. No expression. He could give a mannequin a lesson in subtle. I cannot help it. “Why?” A glimmer of an ant’s smile starts in the left corner of his mouth, for a second, but he quickly snaps it off. “Here’s the deal, Ma’am,” he tells me. “I stopped this car yesterday, on this same curve. I wouldn’t feel right about giving you a ticket on the same corner, at the same speed after letting your 17-year-old daughter off with a warning.” In my head I picture my adorable blonde daughter who was wearing white hot-pants yesterday. As a last hurrah he says, “I’m going to be out here for another two hours, Ma’am.” We both smile. This is the best warning I’ve ever had!