Or: Bruce freaking out is not a pretty sight, people.
Our day was going fairly well, if I do say so myself. Other than the stupid work my stupid work has been making me do, that is. (Would you like to pull crap out of boxes all alone in a dusty, hot warehouse and then count them and then put them back after making labels for each thing in the box and writing down how many of them there is in the box with a label-maker that's always running out of batteries and a printer with battery issues as well - how was I supposed to know how to charge it the night before? I've never used one of those damned machines in my life! And why don't we have more than 1 (ONE) charger for 10 batteries? BLAH! And then lift the boxes and then lift them some more and then stack them up and pray they don't fall on your head(s)? You wouldn't? Me neither.) But half-way through the day today, they assigned me to another task. (I didn't kiss "them", but I thought about it. A lot. And yeah, it was because the 1/2 charge I had on my printer ran out. I did kiss the printer.) So my day went ok. Much better than yesterday! Whee!
But then my darling husband asked if I wanted to go out to eat. He even offered Buffalo Wild Wings, which I love, and used to work at, and still love. And we were on our way.
And then we got pulled over. Yeah, so there's something about the tags and the sales tax and a bunch of other stuff that I just don't understand, seeing as I'm not from these-here parts. It all gets jumbled around in my head until I curl up under the dashboard and moan, "Why can't we live in Wisconsin? I know the rules in Wisconsin. And they let me drive for four months with expired tags in Wisconsin." Much to the annoyance of my husband. Just kidding, he thinks it's adorable when I piss and moan. AT LEAST HE BETTER.
Long story-about-how-we're-evading-the-local-law-enforcement short: Someone got a ticket for not having an updated insurance card in their vehicle. With all the major things that have been being avoided when it comes to all that local gook that makes my brain melt and is obviously wrong with someone's car, the Really Sweet Policeman gave someone a ticket for the smallest thing, the thing we can take care of tomorrow without paying any sort of fine. Guess who's car it was?
I'll give you a hint: It wasn't mine.
PS: What's up with asking for license and proof of insurance down these parts? In Wisconsin, they only ever asked for my license.