On one of the coldest nights of the year here in the Dirty South, I decided that I wanted a Dairy Queen. It was a moment where I wished that I was in love. I would have faked a sudden pregnancy and demanded that He venture out into the cold to bring me back a Key Lime Pie Blizzard.
Instead, I put on my yoga pants and headed out into the cold.
Dairy Queen closes for the winter in Minneapolis, where I grew up. From August to late June, there is no soft serve ice cream because the weather is too cold. Now that I live in the South, I can leave the house in my yoga pants for ice cream whenever I please.
I live within minutes from my local soft serve ice cream establishment. I bundled up and set out on my quest for ice cream. I was surprised to see that several other women were waiting in line when I got there. Apparently, I live in a community where women must get their own ice cream in the middle of the night.
I ordered my Key Lime Pie Blizzard and headed home to eat it in private. I don't like people to see me like that; no mascara and two pounds of ice cream.
I drive a manual transmission. Driving and using a spoon is difficult, but managable. I thought. A block from home, I was pulled over.
When I saw the blue lights flashing behind me, I checked my seatbelt and my lip gloss. I pulled over and scrambled through my purse for my ID. I pulled out anything questionable and waited for the tap on my window.
The officer let me know that I had been driving without my headlights on. I am one of those people who drives with my headlights on during the day. People flash their lights at me and shout, "your lights are on!" out of their windows in a friendly neighborly sort of way. Sometimes, they shout other things in a not so friendly neighborhood way, but I ignore them.
"How old are you?" the officer asked. I told him and I motioned to my ID for comfirmation. "I thought you were 16. Sometimes, inexperienced drivers forget to turn their lights on," he said. I assured him, licking my ice cream, that I was very, very experienced. Suddenly, I knew that there would be no ticket that night. I batted my eyelashes and told him that he was my new best friend. I coyly licked ice cream off my little red Dairy Queen spoon.
We chatted for a bit. I asked him to look at my headlights and tell me if they were both functioning correctly. I asked him to step around to the back and do the same. Sometimes, I explained, it is sooooo hard to see what is going on behind me and I can use a second opinion. He played along. I batted my eyelashes and waited to get my license back.
He let me go with a written warning. I took down his badge number and said something about since I wouldn't be seeing him in court, maybe I could him later.
I went home feeling victorious. I called a friend to brag about the powers of womanly charm and licking ice cream off a spoon. "Mist," he said, "everyone gets a written warning for that."
I can't believe that I got swindled out of my ice cream.
The local Police Department will be hearing from my lawyer.