There really is. Or, at least, there really was. Wiggle Man has found an old clarinet we had lying around (for my music studio...decor, not for actually playing, heaven forbid...) and has adopted it as his own. He marches around with it on a regular basis. You could say it has replaced the spatula for him. I had to step over his beloved clarinet to leave the bathroom this morning, as he'd brought in it, then left it.
Our weekend away was wonderful, even if it did require two trips back into town. It's about an hour drive. Unless you're me. Sunday morning.
I am what you might call directionally challenged. I chalk it up to learning to drive later in life. But really, maybe it's genetic or something.
At any rate, there I was, leaving the beach very very very early Sunday morning. I left 2 hours before I needed to be at church. (I always give myself extra "getting lost time" if it's the first time I've driven somewhere. Even if I've been there lots--if I've never actually been the one driving, I tend to get lost.)
Not surprisingly, I missed the very first exit. Or rather, I exited before I even got on the parkway. Long story. The gist of it is that I thought an arrow pointing to my right referred to where I needed to go. Not so much.
After a half an hour's "detour", I got onto the parkway, and everything was going swimmingly. Until I got to the next route I needed to take. There was a detour. Again, the signage was a little confusing, and I ended up backtracking for a bit, before realising that no, I was going the right way all along.
I like to think I'm a good driver. Directionally challenged, yes. But a good, safe driver over all. So, I'm carefully checking the speed limit. I see it's 35, so I slow down to 35. Eventually, I start getting nervous about how late it's getting, and with no other traffic to help me gauge my speed, I'm going 50. I don't realise this until I see another car coming down the road towards me. At the same time I realise I'm going 50, I realise this car coming towards me is a cop. Crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
He goes past me. I see him brake, then make a u-turn and start following me. I'm sweating like a pig, hoping and praying he decides to cut me a break since I'm now going exactly the speed limit. I get hopeful as he keeps following me, sans lights and nerve-wracking siren. Until I realise he's just waiting for a good spot to pull me over. Which he eventually does.
I have never, ever, ever, ever been pulled over before. Never. I've been in cars when other people have, but never have I been a driver pulled over.
I may have been shaking to the point that it was difficult to give the officer my license and registration, but I did not cry. Waiting for him to check my license and registration took forever and I was suddenly afraid the registration was expired (it wasn't) but I did not cry. I thanked him kindly when he just gave me a warning, and I still did not cry.
Not until after the officer left, anyway.