Diamond shoe problems and a run-in with the law

So when I last wrote, I left off with a teaser about my arrest in Oklahoma.

Which nearly happened. 

But didn't get blogged about sooner due to my tragic diamond shoe problems.  Brace yourselves.  You see, I have been without home phone or internet for about 10 days. 

I know!  How can one live in such dire circumstances? 

And it's all the more catastrophic because the lines to the house got cut accidentally by the guys digging our pool. 

Oh, the horror it is to be me!  How can anyone possibly be expected to live with such a travesty?  Sure, there are starving children in Africa, but WHAT. ABOUT. ME??


Anyway, we were driving from St. Louis to Texas after tearful farewells and a very stressful move.  

Anxiety and exhaustion hung in the air like a thick fog.   

So when I got off the freeway mistakenly in Big Cabin, Oklahoma and saw the red and blue lights behind me, I felt my stomach lurch.  

And possibly heard my mouth curse. 

Glancing in the mirror, I realized my dissheveled hair and smudged mascara would not go very far in helping me talk my way out of it.  I pulled out my license, registration, and insurance card in preparation of the impending ticket.

When the officer approached my vehicle, I rolled the window down and tried my best to look attractive and law-biding.  

        "Excuse me, ma'am, can you please get out of the vehicle?" 

Uh, sure.  

When a big man holding a gun and a badge asks you to do that, you don't really have a choice in the matter, do you?

I followed the officer back to his patrol car where he instructed me to get in the front seat. 

Yes.  You read that right.

With my heart pounding a mile a minute inside my chest, I did as I was told.  Warily, I glanced ahead at the car containing my children.  I could see my anxiety mirrored on their faces.

The policeman busied himself with calling in my plate number and running a check on my license.  I glanced around, noting shotguns, handcuffs, and all manner of police paraphernalia.     


I started shaking and had to sit on my hands to contain the fear.  

The big, burly police officer started making chit-chat and I really began to panic.  He asked me all kinds of questions.  Where I lived, where I was going, how long I had been on the road.   

He then proceeded to tell me that I was going the wrong way to Dallas.  He offered up the route that took me through his tiny little town as the best way to get there.   

Not really thinking, I blurted out, "Yeah, but who wants to go through tiny towns with slow speed limits and cops pulling you over every five minutes?" 

Well.  Was THAT the wrong thing to say. 

He closed his eyes and looked like he was counting to ten, trying to maintain his composure.  I think I saw a few veins on his forehead bulge. 

He turned to face me, put his hand on his revolver, and said, "I'm sorry that obeying the law is such an inconvenience for you." 

I mumbled something about it being a joke and turned my head to look out the window.  Wishing fervently for an invisibility cloak.  Or a time machine.  Or a suicide pill. 

What felt like hours later, my friendly neighborhood pig handed me the ticket and I had to keep myself from running like a maniac back to my car. 

What the eff?

Why did a simple traffic stop for speeding necessitate a visit to the front of the patrol car?  What happened to me waiting patiently in my own car to be served with a ticket?   Could I have refused him?  What are my rights in a situation like this?

I'm guessing none.

I'm just thankful that my smart mouth didn't land me into any more trouble.   

I mean, who would nag the pool guy to work faster if my large rear end is rotting in a jail cell in Oklahoma?