i feel bad for you son

After the second trip to the dog park yesterday (I had to put the kibosh on the visit the first time we got there), I decided I was hungry. And since it was 8:15pm, I knew there was no way in hell I was going to cook anything short of a grilled cheese, and I’ve been reserving those for lunchtime-only meals. I stopped at Chipotle for a treat of 14 times my daily allotment of sodium.

I had to dispose of a bag of dog poop that I had to bring back from the dog park (they don’t have trashcans!), so I was wrapping it up in some paper to make it look less like a steaming pile of shit and more just like something I’d grabbed from the floorboard of my car. Went in, strayed from my usual order, made mental notes of two things I wanted to blog about (NERD), stole a dozen plastic forks since I don’t have a dishwasher at home anymore, and then went back out to my car. Right about then is when I noticed I didn’t have my keys in my pocket.

I got to my car and because it was so gorgeous outside, my back windows were 1/4 of the way down, just far enough for Riley to stick his head out, but not down far enough for him to jump out after birds (which is his favorite thing now). I put down my four pound bag of burrito and stolen plastic forks and realized I could fortunately reach into the window and unlock the door, since clearly Riley wasn’t going to do it for me. And, of course, as soon as I did, the alarm started going off. I took care of the whole lights flashing and horn blaring problem and drove away.

A few blocks later, I noticed a police car with his lights on behind me, so I pull over to the side of the road. I heard “Son do you know why I’m stoppin’ you for?” And I said, “Cause I’m young and I’m black and my hats real low? Do I look like a mind reader sir, I don’t know.”

Actually, he pulled me over, and when he asked if I knew why he was pulling me over, I told him I had no idea. And that’s when he kindly let me know that someone had run up to his car and let him know that I stole the car I was in – you know, MY car. That I’m driving.

I didn’t know how to react. Do car thieves laugh when they get pulled over? Do they have shifty eyes? Were my eyes shifty? What if they take my dog away? And, uh oh. There’s an open bottle of peach schnappes underneath my driver’s seat.

We had a good chuckle when I gave him my license, registration, and anything else he wanted, including an explanation on why I may have appeared to have stolen my very own car. And during our chuckling and reminiscing about good times, I verified that Riley does in fact want to kill any policeman that approaches my car. Win for me.

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