I don’t do drugs. Never have (not even the seemingly obligatory toke in college), never will, it’s just not my cup of tea. My world is colorful and ludicrous enough without chemical enhancement, thankssomuch.
Why then, did I almost get arrested for drug possession this weekend?
Because I’m a bad driver, that’s why. I was driving home from the grocery store on Saturday, my trunk full of food and my head full of fatigue thanks to a few sleepless nights with an inexplicably fussy baby (teething? growth spurt? the vapors?). I was stopped at an intersection, first in line, when an ambulance came squealing up behind me.
Seeing as how I was in a position to free up the intersection so the ambulance could go through, I scooted into the intersection and pulled over to the side. The ambulance went by in a flurry of lights, and I checked my blind spot and pulled back into traffic.
Apparently I pulled right ahead of a police officer, cutting him off and forcing him to slam on his brakes. To my infinite chagrin, I didn’t even know he was there until he flashed his lights and pulled me over. As I pulled over, I realized I had my cell phone in my hand, having been interrupted in the act of putting it back in my purse by the ambulance.
Uh oh. I was fairly certain he was going to give me a ticket for texting while driving, even though I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.
He approached my window and I handed over my license. I explained that I was wasn’t texting, he explained that that didn’t necessarily mean I wasn’t a bad driver, I agreed, and he asked for my insurance and registration. I was driving Wes’ car, so it took me awhile to find the requested materials.
Just as I found them, someone smoking weed drove by and suddenly the officer’s asking me whether he smells something he shouldn’t.
To be honest, at first I thought he was asking whether I was flatulent. Then, dawning horror gave way to incredulity as I sputtered something like, “No. Um, NO! I’m a mother! I’m breastfeeding! I have a baby! I would never do drugs!”
He smirked, and replied that since it was my husband’s car, maybe he had something in there that maybe he shouldn’t.
At this point I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand, I know my husband and I know he doesn’t do drugs, nor does he ferry them around. On the other hand, if everyone knew their husbands as well as they thought they did, there wouldn’t be so many Lifetime movies with sad, crying wives, would there?
I assured him there were no drugs in the car, and he said he’d go run my license and that the smell had better be gone by the time he got back. Suffice it to say, the smell was gone and he let me go with a warning to be less harebrained.
And that’s the story of how I almost got arrested for drug possession.