Happy Monday to all. Okay, it’s Monday. I suppose happiness might be pushing it. Anyway, I wanted to share a little story with you as to why this little ole author is pretty happy this Monday morning.
Over the weekend, I was headed to a booksigning about three and a half hours from my hometown. My husband was good enough to drive me. I don’t mind driving, but if he’ll do it, I’ll let him. Most of the time. But that’s another story. As we were headed out of town, several things put us behind. My son forgot his lunch and we had to drop it off at school. I forgot to get Hershey’s kisses so we had to stop and pick some up. (CANNOT go to a booksigning without chocolate. Trust me.) As a result, we were running late. According to the GPS, we would only be about ten minutes late. Okay, I could call and let them know and that would be that.
Only my husband was determined I was going to be on time.
So, um, yeah, he pressed the gas pedal just a bit too hard.
And passed a cop just waiting for some idiot, speeding lunatic, person going a little too fast to zoom by.
Oh yeah, we were toast.
Of course my husband slams on brakes as soon as he gets past. I’m like, why bother? Reflex, I guess.
So, anyway, here come the blue lights behind us. Dear hubby pulls to the side like an obedient driver and I roll my window down already figuring in my head which bills we could delay in order to pay the ticket that was coming. And it was going to be a whopper.
The cop comes up on my side of the car. Smart man. Cars were whipping by on the other side. Gleeful drivers that could now speed because my husband had the cop occupied.
I roll down my window and he leans in. “Sir, do you know how fast you were going?”
My husband: “78.” He hands the officer the required documents.
“And do you know what the speed limit is out here?” he asks as he studies the license, insurance and registration.
Officer: “Try 65.”
At this point I can help myself. The clock was ticking and we had no money in the budget for a ticket. Plus I’d just banged on heaven’s gates begging for mercy. “Officer,” I gushed, “this is totally my fault.”
He looks at me and raises a brow. “Ma’am, how is it your fault your husband was going 82 in a 65?”
I wince. Had he really been going that fast??
“I’m in a huge hurry and I’m very, very sorry.” I clasp my hands in front of me assuming the begging position as I rattle, “I’m on my way to a booksigning in Raleigh and we got behind and we’re really really late and I told him I didn’t want to be late because it wouldn’t look good so he sped up and I told him to slow down, but being the wonderful husband he is, he read between the lines and knew I really meant ‘HURRY UP!’ so he was kind of speeding out of self-preservation and I know it was wrong and I’m really really sorry. How much mercy do you have in you today?” I finally take a breath.
He looks at me, a frown on his stern, but handsome, African American face. (I suspect he was actually masking the urge to smile.) “A booksigning, huh?”
That was all he got??
“Yes,” I nod. “At Family Christian Stores in Raleigh at 12:00.”
More frowning. (Okay, maybe there wasn’t a smile anywhere in him.) “A Christian booksigning?”
God, I’m standing up for you here. “Yes sir, a Christian one. And I promise we’ll slow down and I’ll call and just tell them I’m going to be late. Please, please, please!” I have no problem begging. Then I look at his left hand resting on the edge of the door. “You have on a wedding ring!” I exclaim.
He looks at me like I’m crazy. Well, I guess that would seem like a pretty bizarre thing to say to the cop who was getting ready to write you a ticket.
“Does your wife like to read?” I blather. Reaching behind me in one smooth move, I grab a book of the backseat. “Here, I would love for you to give her one. Not that I’m in any way trying to bribe a cop! But you’re welcome to it.” I open it up and sign it. “God Bless! You have a very compassionate husband.” I sign my name and hand it to him. He reads it.
And laughs a great big belly laugh.
I ask him, “She does, right? Have a compassionate husband?”
He grins and looks at my husband. “Your wife saved you, dude.”
My husband shrugs. “Happens on a regular basis. Uh, her saving me, not the speeding thing.” (Now that was a lie, but I digress.)
The officer shakes his head, flashes his pearly whites again, and says, “Slow down.”
“Yes sir. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
He starts walking back to his car—with the book—and I lean out of the window. “What’s your name, Officer?”
He shows me his badge and I nearly lose it.
We had been stopped by Officer Grissom.
Now, if you’re not a CSI fan, you won’t understand the hilarity of that moment. I keep my hysterical laughter to myself and wave to him. “I’m going to mention you in my next book!”
He gives another shake of his head, waves, and we’re off! At a much slower speed than before.
I made it to the booksigning—late—and all was well.
Thank you, God, for Christian cops.