Wednesday, March 13, 2013
How Does This Happen to Me?
The other night Nancy told me and Spencer about nearly getting a speeding ticket. She'd just gotten back from a business trip and was heading down to Macon to see her parents. Her father had been hospitalized for a severe bronchial infection and an attack of angina. We've both been worried about her parents as it is, because they're in their eighties, and Nancy's mother also has dementia, so she was understandably upset.
Anyway the blue light pulls her over and the officer informs Nancy she's going 70 in a 55 zone. Nancy told the officer she was honestly unaware of her speed, and was appropriately apologetic. He took her license back to the squad car to make sure she wasn't wanted for ax murder or something and when he returned just gave her a "warning citation." Anyway, what with the emotions of anxiety over her parents, the stress of travel, the experience of nearly being ticketed, culminating in the policeman's generosity, she just broke down and cried.
I told you that to tell you this.
After hearing this, Spencer turns on me with an accusing glare, "See, she cried! You always say whenever I get a speeding ticket, I cry." (Spencer doesn't make a habit of getting speeding tickets, but the few times she has, she's called Nancy in tears.) Now I'm defending myself for - I don't know what. Telling Spencer she cried after getting a speeding ticket? But Spencer knows she did. Telling Nancy Spencer cried? No, Nancy's the one who told me. Before I can sort out a reasonable defense, Nancy also gives me a cold look, and suddenly says, "And where are the rest of the Girl Scout Cookies?"
See how it works? I wasn't the one who got a speeding ticket, or even nearly got a speeding ticket, but all at once the conversation's about me.
As far as the missing Girl Scout Cookies, I plead the fifth.