Busted

I’m a terrible feminist.

On Saturday I got pulled over for speeding. The nice state trooper, who was all of twelve, (really – when did they start deputizing pre-pubescent boys?) attempted a surreptitious look down my shirt. When he realized he was busted, he turned a rather lovely shade of fuchsia.  I’m pretty sure if it was physically possible for him to crawl inside his Smokey-bear-hat he would have.

I did not get a ticket that day.

Honestly, I giggled all the way home. While I’m usually an “eyes-up-here-Buster!” kind of gal, in this instance I forgave the indiscretion, since it certainly worked in my favor. Is it a bit too fluffy of me, as a bright, independent, strong woman to be secretly, guiltily pleased to have escaped a traffic violation simply because I have an ogle-able rack? *blush*

smokey


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