Took Betty out for some X-Muss shopping yesterday. All was proceeding apace when we left Purcellville through the back door. They've recently dropped the speed limit on Hillsboro Road to 35, and John Law was out about a half-mile from town, Enforcing, radar gun pointed at oncoming out-of-town traffic.
Me, I wasn't worried. Inveterate speed-limit submissive, me. Speedometer needle pointed perfectly at 35. Yeah, buddy. You Can't Catch Me.
Turned around the bend from Mr. Law. Oncoming headlights shining through the oncoming dusk. Looks like he's going a hair too fast. Better let him know what's around the next corner...
Blinkety-blinkety-blink go the headlights. Practically did it by themselves; it's an ingrained habit.
Only after the headlights did their blinkety-blink bit did I notice what might have been a ski-rack, or perhaps a...set of lights...on top of the car encroaching in the gathering darkness.
As I watched him screech into a driveway to turn around in my rearview, the thought occurred: There was a herd of deer back there! They just jumped into the woods! You gotta warn other motorists in these parlous times! Yeah, that's the ticket!
Officer Friendly thought the whole thing was about as funny as I secretly did myself. (Betty was turning red from the suppression of laughter.) He mentioned Obstruction of Justice in his initial conversation with me, as he pointed out my expired inspection sticker. (What, three weeks out of date? So sue me! It's Christmas! Got shit to do!) He retired back to his prowler with my license and registration to verify that I wasn't wanted for moral turpitude in 23 states. After what seemed an eternity, during which Betty and I exchanged the blackest of jokes, he returned.
He'd knocked the Obstruction charge back to "failure to dim high beams."
I will happily cop to it. Merry Christmas, Occifer.