The jerk claimed I was doing 50 in a 35 zone, which is ridiculous. I might have been going 40, maybe 45, but with all the potholes I have to dodge on my way to work, at fifty miles per hour my drive would have resembled an amusement park ride instead of a commute.
I'm almost eight months pregnant, does this asshole really think my bladder could take the inevitable jumping and flying that the poor state of street repair in the District would subject my 2005 baby blue Thunderbird to? He didn't seem impressed by this argument. Needless to say, I'm fighting it. Speaking of the Thunderbird, I think I've hit the point where I'm too big to actually enjoy driving it (another reason I know I couldn't have been doing 50). I'm thoroughly tempted to start stealing the keys to Sam's Lexus SUV. I bought the damn thing, and it's not like he's had much opportunity to drive it. It just sits in the garage, taunting me as I attempt to twist and bend and squeeze into a car that's a lot smaller than it seemed when I got it.
I bet that idiot cop wouldn't have pulled me over in a hybrid vehicle. I'm beginning to see the appeal.