I’ve added to my list of things to do while being, shall we say, mature. The list already had first and second books, with two more in the works, and learning to ski.
Then there was that scene on Highway 280. . .
Okay, I knew I was going too fast as I overtook some slow cars, but didn’t realize how fast until I saw the Highway Patrol car, half-hidden, ready to pounce. That’s when I looked at my speedometer. Eighty. I slowed down, of course, and thought I might get away with it, but no–that lovely display of flashing lights came looming up in my rear view mirror.
I’m not proud of my speeding ticket, but it was kind of nice to hear the cop say–when I asked–that catching, shall we say, mature ladies in Priuses didn’t happen to him very often, if ever.