“I have never seen a cop on the Indian Nation Turnpike,” said my husband on Saturday to all of our Austin friends at the wedding.
He’s said it several times before, but the way he said it Saturday was ringing in my ears as I watched the cop get out of his car and walk towards me.
I was going 83mph in 75mph zone, and as I’d had cars whizzing by me for miles, I was surprised my speed resulted in the stop. As he questioned me, though, the reasoning became clear. It turned out that the officer was very interested in the radar detector attached to our windshield.
Radar detectors are legal. Even so, the officer had several questions for me regarding the detector. When he asked me about my intent in purchasing such a thing, I inadvertently threw my husband under the bus as I stuttered my response. I didn’t know how to respond other than, “I didn’t purchase it– it’s not mine.”
Brian was respectful and calm, which balanced out my trembling and stammering. He simply removed the radar detector from the windshield, and the officer was appeased. Well, mostly. He got pretty condescending when he didn’t get the exact response he wanted from his strangely worded questions– but we got the eventually.
The officer gave me a verbal warning and we were on our way. Woohoo!
Well… almost woohoo.
There’s this thing about me I don’t like, and I’m trying to do something about. I desperately desire the approval of others. God is working on this in me, but I’m definitely a work in progress. But it really doesn’t work out well for me when I get into trouble. Since trouble is the opposite of this approval I’m obsessed with, it often results in anxiety or tears. This time, it was tears.
They weren’t immediate. We were actually talking about the weirdly worded questioning when I just said, “Stop. Stop talking about it.” Brian went silent and readjusted in his seat. He eyed me nervously– I must have been giving off a vibe. And then, they came.
I’m not a pretty crier, and getting in trouble with the law is like, serious trouble in my book. Ticket or not, that officer was not happy with me. So, I was ugly crying with lots of sound effects. I didn’t want Brian to see this, but I didn’t have a choice. This is what I do– I cry when I get into trouble… like a child.
Marriage means Brian gets the full show– with the backstage passes and in-depth interviews. I don’t get to hide the not-so-desirable aspects from him. He gets the entire package. He has the wife who cries even when she doesn’t get a ticket, just because she did something wrong and got caught. When normal people would rejoice, I’m a basket case. And I’m all his.