The Long Arm of the Law

I am super pissed this morning. I can throw a rock and hit my babysitter's house, but I can't get there without getting a friggin' speeding ticket. Just last week I resolved a warrant for my arrest from a previous speeding ticket that I forgot to pay, and wouldn't you know it the same damn cop was sitting around the corner this morning. She was outside, leaned into the window of another damn cop, and I swear the second she saw my car, she turned around and started the most awkward, slow motion, hobble run to her car. They look so ridiculous when they run in all their gear. Seriously, I doubt that she needs her Kevlar vest, and steel-tipped boots, to run a speed trap on Main Street, Oakley. She made it to her car about the time I passed her. I figured I had three options, run her over, which would be bad, a high speed chase, (too many kids in the car,) or pull over. I pulled over immediately after she turned on her lights, but just for good measure, she flipped on her siren a couple of times. I was pretty pissed by the time she got to my window, but I kept my cool pretty well. She said that I was speeding through "town," which I think is a bit of a stretch, since apparently a double wide trailer on either side of the street, constitutes a "town." I handed over my information, a little relived that I finally got that warrant taken care of, so that she didn't put me up on the hood of the car, and pat me down in my scrubs, for my little hoodlums to see. As she was walking back to her car, Dawson starts in on me. "Ah freak, we got caught by the cops again." In reality, he has only been in the car with me once before, when I have been pulled over, but he talks as if it happens everyday.
The copper keeps us waiting forever, and Dawson will not leave me alone. "Mom you just have to look at the numbers on the sign, and then that's how fast you go. You need to slow your butt down, like Dad says. I sure hope I am not late for school. Blah, Blah...."
I don't necessarily want to sour my children on the Long Arm of the Law, so I let my anger play out in the form of a day dream in which I take the stinking ticket and hold it high in the air, as the little copper tries to jump in all her gear and grab it from me. Eventually, she gets mad and breaks out the bean bag gun, which I wrestle away from her, and have my way.
Instead I take the ticket, and wish her a happy rest of the day, while my middle finger twitches restlessly. I drop the kids' off at Brittany's, where Dawson is already talking a blue streak about his law breaking mother, it's no wonder his Kindergarten teacher wouldn't make eye contact at Parent Teacher Conference.
Obviously, deep down, I am aware that my anger at the fuzz, is actually just misplaced anger at myself, for not being able to follow rules. At this point in my life, I chose to not be self-enlightened, and this Christmas, I am going to ask Santa for a bean bag gun. I'll probably need one when they make me go to Defensive Driving School.