Let me tell you about the tragic underlying thought behind a potentially comedic event. So, I’ve been home by myself for a week. Side note: I’m so out of practice living alone! Anyhoo, it’s like 11:30 or midnight or something and I have an intense desire for cereal. Cinnamon Life cereal, to be precise. With almond milk cuz I’m bougie. With all this freedom I have, leaving at midnight for cereal was a fucking THRILL!
I put on my Sorta bra (it sorta supports me, ya know, just enough) and head out in my t-shirt and gym shorts. Now, if you know me, you know I love pockets. I can’t wait for parachute pants to come back in style and #CargoShortsForLife! My gym shorts only had two measly pockets for my keys (why did I have two sets?), wallet, change, cell phone, and some odd and ends. I take my wife’s car because it’s nicer and smells better. It’s in her name and we are legally married.
As I’m driving–and pay attention now because here the jokes end–as I’m driving at night on relatively deserted roads, it hits me: What if I get pulled over? What if they don’t believe that I have a right to drive this car? What if they question my intense desire for cereal “at this time of night”? What if they ask me to get out of the car while I’m alone in the middle of the night? What if they don’t take kindly to my polite yet persistent questions like “Is there a problem, officer?” What if I find myself on the ground, the concrete, with all of this crap in my pockets? What if I tried to adjust so I wouldn’t be hurt and poked by all this stuff? What if I moved my hand wrong…
At a stop light not too far from the house, I took everything out of my pockets…just in case. Because, what if I hadn’t?