The only certainty is bad grammar

I got pulled over today.

The cop was all, “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

And I was all, “Umm, was I speeding?”

“I paced you going 55 in a 35.”

“Really?? Wow. (Deep sigh). I’m sorry. I was umm. (mumble).”

“You were what?”

“I was just going with the flow of traffic. I’m sorry.”

“How were going with the flow of traffic? You were the lead car.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Blink.

Blink. Blink.

“Well, lucky for you, I don’t have a radar detector, so I’m just going to give you a warning. Can I have your license and insurance?”

I handed over my Wisconsin licence and my United Auto insurance, which I basically got for the price of a blue light special.

“Wisconsin?”

“Ya, I haven’t changed it over yet.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Umm, a few months.”

“A FEW MONTHS!! If you don’t change it within 90 days, you could be cited with not having a valid license. You need to get this changed.”

“Oh. Sorry. OK.”

Then the officer walked back to his car and I had a panic attack because I figured there were two solid reasons why this man would come back and tell me my license was as good as a toy badge and then he would arrest me and I would go to jail and have a mug shot taken and my life would suck.

ONE: The whole address thing. There must be some way that he could tell that my car had been registered to a Woodstock address for two years and therefore, I must have lived here for umm, two years and therefore my licence was not valid.

TWO: I thought maybe the whole, “I went through a toll last August and then never paid it and then ignored letters from the state about them possibly, someday revoking my license,” thing could come up.

But Thank God above and all his angles that the officer just came back over to my car with a warning.

“OK, here you go. But, just so you know, your license plate comes back as registered to a van, so you should get that changed. You could get a ticket for that.”

A van? What? I have a two-door.

“Drive safe now.”

“Umm, OK. Thanks”

And I pulled away.

With a warning.

How did that happen?

(You go knock on wood right now. Right this second. Seriously. Find some freaking wood.).

I’m thinking my 10-year-old sister has better game than me, which I’m sure offers some insight into why I’m single.

I mean, first the girl totally called me out on the corny, corny flirting I was doing with the boy working at the mall food court, all, “THEN, Crystal said, ‘uuu, can I ring your bell?,'” and then, she gave me the genius idea of how to give said boy my phone number.

“Oh! I know,” she tells me. “Just go up and say you need a refill on my Mountain Dew and then give him your number.”

Ladies and gentlemen, “My sister — the player.”

But, I was all, “I’m too scared. I mean, what if he says no, and I die? Or what if he has a girlfriend and she’s standing behind me and hears me and then beats me up and I get a concussion and then I die? Or, what if he thinks I’m the ugliest person ever in the world, heck the universe! AND he tells me so and I die? OR, what if I give him my number and he rips it up right in front of me, and as little pieces of sad napkin confetti fall to the floor, I die? OR!!!! What if he’s really an alien, and I give him my number and then he abducts me and I die. On the moon??!!!”

And my little sister was all, “What? Huh? Dude, I really do need a drink refill, so ya.”

So I found a pen, wrote my number on a napkin and tried my best to sound clever while asking if they charge for soda refills. (They don’t.)

And when he tried to be clever back, all, “Ya, $5,” I took it as a sign that he was totally into me and asked if he had a girlfriend. (He doesn’t).

Then I said, “Well, here’s my number if you want to call me sometime or something.”

AND TWO HOURS LATER HE TOTALLY TEXTED ME!!!! (Dear spell check, texted is a real word. Love, me).

And then we ended up watching a movie together.

And I might even see him again.

And I didn’t even die!!

YAY!!!