I-90

Last week, on my way back to Rochester, from Buffalo, I got pulled over by a New York State Trooper. He asked me for my registration and driver's license, which I produced with trepidation.

"Do you know how fast you were goin' M'am?" "No sir," I said. Sniff, sniff, as I grabbed for a box of tissue. "Well, do ya see that sign over there?" "Which one, officer?" "The one that says, I-90. Just to let you know that's the route number not the speed limit. What da ya have to say for yourself?"

"Well, officer, crying, you see, my-cat-Buzi just-died-and-I'm-still-upset-and-want-to-go-home-and-wasn't-paying-attention-and-I'm-really-sorry." More crying, blowing nose and grabbing for more tissue.

"Don't cry Ma'm. I'm sorry about your cat. I'm not going to write you a ticket, but I am going to give you a stern warning, THE SPEED LIMIT IS 65 MPH ON THE THRUWAY...NOT 90! Now, drive safe on the way back to Rochester and have a nice day." "Whew!"

And I did...drove safe and had a nice day.

Think I'll speed...er...sprint over to Jenny's for more interesting blog posts.