I Got 99 Problems but a Squash Ain't One

"Excuse me, Ma'am?"
"Eek!"
"Oops. Sorry, Ma'am. I didn't mean to frighten you."
"Oh. Yes. Well, I startle easily. Can I help you?"
"Yes, can I see your licence and registration?"
"Sure. Uh, why?"

Normally, there would be any host of reasons that an officer might need to see my particulars and I would think to myself, "Dear Buddha, please don't let him catch me ______."

See, I often don't signal turns.  I occasionally don't believe in 4-way stops (just in some areas where it's scary to linger and in other places where the homeowners simply want you to gape at their huge homes, and in other spots where clearly there should be a LIGHT not a 4-way stop).  Oh, and sometimes, I speed.

More often, I have music blaring while singing with my children, and I am drinking lava-tea (which is tea you get at Tim Horton's that comes straight from active volcanoes and one tiny dot on the skin will eat a hole straight through to the other side), or am zooming home to get a forgotten Pinkie or Poochie thus ensuring I will be Late to wherever I  left early to get to on time.

Equally as frequently, however, I am returning from some terrible bank heist gone horribly wrong and Mr White is bleeding out in my backseat (after I restrained him in my son's 5-point harness for safety) while I sing "We're gonna be okaaaay."

When I got out of my car having fake-parallel parked it on King St (there were two spots open, so I just drove through the first spot and parked my car while the (unbeknownst to me) Officer of the Law parked behind me, and was told to fork over my plastics, I was flabbergasted.

I stood there thinking to myself, "He must be a fan! He must've recognized me from CK Child Magazine and wants to let me know my blogs touch his heart and funny bone! Or maybe he has seen the Twirly skirts  and wants to get one for his wee daughters? This is gonna be the coolest pull-over EVER!"

Then he said, "Do you realize your plates are expired?"
Chuckling, I said, "Oh no, my birthday isn't until November. They're just coming due."  I tapped the date on my licence and pass it to him.
Chuckling, he tapped the licence plate.

Sept '12? What the?
Oh. Yes.
Yes.

When we imported my car (upon our return to Canadia from Amerrica) there was some Title/registration glitch that required us to purchase my car outright in order to receive said documents, in order for me to, like, get a damn licence plate. And I think because of freedom of information or something equally as un-free as that, my name couldn't be on the title when we got it because I wasn't there in the office on that day and blah blah blah. Whatever. It was a very sad day for feminists everywhere.  

I then have a movie flashback of the registration notice coming in the mail with Husband's and me saying "Oh yeah, you're on the title for both cars-- and they're expiring soon. Can you deal with this; I'm sure with all the anti-fraud laws I can't pay for this because I'm not you."
"Sure." he said, "I'll get it done Monday."

So, returning to the present day, I text Husband "Hey, Honey, uh, did you get the licence plates renewed?  What about insurance?"
I wait 30 seconds and type back "Because I've been pulled over and neither one appears to be legit."
I wait 30 seconds and type back "And I remember getting the insurance card and saying "Honey, can you put this in the car for me, I'm making dinner." and you said "Sure. I'll do it right now.""
I wait 30 seconds and type back "Cuz it's not here. And the very tall, very good looking officer would like to see it. And I had to write he's good looking because a) he is and b) in case he looks at this and wants to know what I was saying, I want to suck up a little. I hope he doesn't read this last part though."

Then I get "The insurance is good. My card is good.  Oh shit. I have your card too. Sorry."
And then I get "Shit. I remember getting that notice."
And then I get "Shit. Are you getting a ticket."
And then I get "Shit. Happy Friday!"

And then, I get a ticket.

Nicely, the good-looking police officer who is at least 6 inches taller than I am (which is saying a lot since I'm 6 feet tall) didn't charge me for the expired insurance issue.  He nabbed me as a "gentle reminder" to renew my expired-by-one-month plates though, to the tune of $110. That is about as gentle as exfoliating with an SOS pad.

So, I stopped what I was going to do and drove straight to the DMV to pay for those stickers. Figuring I could only do my plates, I went over kinda annoyed. However, the Gods of the DMV smiled upon me and allowed me not only to pay for my plates, but for Husband's as well AND I was out of the office (including the time I was waiting for Husband to email me his pertinent info) in 20 minutes.

Seeing as I had all this extra time, I decided I'd drive the sticker out to his car and put it on there to avoid the potential for a second "gentle warning" today.

All the way to Husband's work I kept replaying the police officer's last remark in my head. He asked what I was going to be for Halloween, gesturing to the butternut squash bushel he could see in my backseat.

I have a slight major butternut squash buying addiction; I eat them only so I can make room to buy more. Honestly, I think they're amazingly delicious (and we eat them a lot) but mostly I just buy them non-stop in the fall. I mean non-stop. In fact, I even had a fleeting idea that the officer might be pulling me over because I was clearly hording all the best butternut squash in town.

I said "Well, uh, I guess probably Betty Rubble? Why?" and he said (this is the part I kept replaying), "Oh! I figured you' were for sure gonna be an Oompa Loompa."

Smiling (mostly to (again) suck up) I said "Oh that's hilarious!" and tried to figure out what the heck he meant.   Oompa Loompas?  How would that even work for me? Was he making some bizarre short joke? Cuz I'm 6 feet tall. I'd have to cut myself off at the knees to be an Oompa Loompa.  Was he referring to my ploofy hairstyle (which, by the way, is RUDE to say because, like, I know I need a trim!)? And how does an Oompa Loompa have anything to do with a basket full of butternut squash? Geez cops are bizarre.

I was thinking so hard about this that I had to slam on the brakes to avoid missing Husband's driveway. All my precious squash went tumbling onto the floor (and I could smell that at least one was damaged. Gah!) while my purse hit the front window despite throwing my right arm protectively across the front seat.  Luckily it was only the shell of the purse that hit the window: my wallet, 104 receipts, 3 pens, 2 pairs of sunglasses, several raisins or nuts or both, and at least 4 Thomas the Tank Engines exploded from my open purse mid-flight. Is there any wonder why my car looks like they filmed a disaster movie inside it? Sigh.

I turned in, and double parked behind his truck. I debated searching the debris for baby wipes that I know I have and gave up. I got out and licked my finger to clean off the sticker. I looked down, baffled. I scrubbed the dirt away and started to giggle. His plates expired not 1 month ago like mine, but 2 years  and one month prior. Say WHAT?  I snorted that, effectively my ticket was how much two years worth of licence plate renewals would've been anyway and shook my head.

In shaking my head, I caught a glimpse of myself in the puddle beside his tire. Then I really started to laugh.

Apparently when all you do is eat butternut squash so you can buy more butternut squash, your skin gets a delightfully, odd, orange hue. Somewhere in the distance a drummer just played the Ba-bum-bum Ching!

I clearly could be a live-in companion of Gene Wilder or Johnny Depp.

I text Husband one last time: Charlie Bucket: I found your golden ticket and pasted it on top of your expired plates. Expired in 2010, btw. What's better than an Oompa Loompa? Your wife, but not by  much. Dinner tonight is some gum I got from a fat chick named Violet. Could be fun.

He replied, "What? No butternut squash?"