My darling Trucklet had a check-up on Wednesday. She got new oil and new windshield wipers and her tires rotated and air pressure checked and so on. This morning I filled her up with gas and whispered in her ear "Go, baby - run home to mom and dad." And off she went.
She was so happy to be free and on the road. I popped in my Jack Johnson CD and soon we were cruising on the back road. Just up ahead, Trucklet spied some bigger trucks and, having been stuck in the driveway with an elderly, sedate Town & Country van for most of the winter, she was so excited that she sped up a little to catch up with the Big Boys. She didn't want to pass them, she just wanted to cruise along behind.
We were winding our way along the road, when all of a sudden the truck in front of us slowed down and pulled over to the shoulder. He didn't stop or really even apply his brakes, and I thought he was just pulling over to answer his cell phone. Then he pulled back into traffic and I happened to glance up to the rear view mirror.
Uh-oh.
The sheriff was right behind me, lights a blazing. I pulled over, turned down the stereo and waited to see if the deputy was cute. When SHE approached my window to ask for my driver's license, registration and insurance, I knew I was in trouble. She said I'd been doing 69 in a 55 (hey, at least I settled into a sexy speed ...) and without further ado, went back and wrote me up a ticket.
Bitch.
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