Actually it's a cardigan, but thanks for noticing

As an avid fan of every formulaic crime drama on television, I've always felt a close affinity to police officers. I am always on the lookout for crimes in progress, so that I can become a star witness and help the police crack the case. "Wow, that girl sure was helpful in cracking our case," they would say. And then they would beg me to join the police force, but of course I would decline. I can't be tied down by their rules, you see. I would, however, agree to help them as a consultant. I would be paid handsomely for my efforts, and I'd be a local hero. Naturally.

Although this exact scenario hasn't quite happened yet, I did have an exciting run-in with the police a few months ago. Like most of my adventures, it all began over a pitcher of margaritas. (Actually it was a rum and Coke, but that doesn't sound as poetic.) My friend Starlene (totally her real name) and I were planning a baby shower while enjoying a few drinks at a local watering hole. And for the record, you can be sure that the baby shower turned out a lot more awesome than it would have had we been planning it over tea and crumpets. Anyway, as the evening wore on, it became apparent that I should probably leave my car where it was and spend the night at Starlene's house, which is something I frequently do when Matt is traveling for work. Starlene and her husband Dean always welcome me into their home with open arms, even when I do terrible things like throw mangoes on the floor and put their cat in a colander.

Anyway. Dean and Starlene ASSURED me that it would be fine to leave my car in the parking garage overnight, and that Dean would drop me off at my car on his way to church the next morning. As we pulled into the parking garage the next day, something didn't seem right. Like a Blessid Union of Souls concert in 2010, the garage felt eerily empty. Sure enough, my car had been towed. We called the number on the very clearly marked "No Overnight Parking" sign and got directions to the tow lot. (Let the record show that Dean felt terrible about this mishap and even offered to pay to get the car out, which I politely declined, but I totally thought about it.)

We got on the highway and began heading to our destination, but soon found that our exit was blocked by a police car. I called the guy at the towing company again (we were pretty chummy at this point), and he gave us an alternate route. Just our luck, that route was blocked too. We made our way back to the original exit, where Dean bravely pulled his car off to the shoulder and got out so that he could talk to the police man (who I am pretty sure, put his hand on his gun as he saw Dean approaching). It turned out that there was a big bike race going on (nerds), and there was no way to reach the impound lot. The cop instructed us to go to yet another blocked exit, where we were to ask the police officers there what to do.

At the final exit, we found two regular cops and one motorcycle cop. (I was able to refrain from yelling, "Killer boots, man!", but just barely.) After conferring amongst themselves, they decided that one of them would drive me through the bike race to the impound lot, and then the motorcycle cop would escort me back to the highway. ESCORT ME! Like my own personal parade!!! I could not have been more thrilled. This was totally worth the $125 to get my car back.

The first stumbling block in my awesome experience was that I had to ride through the bike race with a female cop. Now, there's nothing wrong with female police officers, but I can't very well flirt with a girl cop. I was hoping for Elliot Stabler, and instead I got Olivia Benson. Except not even as cool as Olivia Benson. Then, as if that weren't bad enough, she asked me if I had any weapons in my purse, and she made me sit in the back seat like a common criminal. This was not the exciting ride along I had hoped for. But I kept quiet, because I still had my personal motorcade to look forward to.

Benson dropped me off and drove away, and Officer Boots, who had followed behind us on his chopper, waited for me to pay the tow truck man. I got my car back, strapped myself in, and prepared myself for the ride of my life. Boots revved his engine and put his flashing lights on. This was it -- my moment of fame! We pulled out of the impound lot onto the road with all the bikes... except there were no bikes. It appeared that everyone had passed. My heart sank. No one was going to be there to witness my parade, and our exit to the highway was only about a quarter mile ahead. Just then, Boots signaled for me to pull up next to him. He had taken pity on me! Surely he was going to say, "Come on, let's see how fast you can make that Hyundai go!" or "Why don't you pull over and get on the back of my bike!" I rolled down my window expectantly and flashed him a smile. "Put on your hazard lights," he said blandly. I complied and rolled up the window. "Ten-four, officer."

Needless to say, my dreams of hanging out with detectives and nabbing perps in my spare time have not yet come true. But I feel like I'm a little bit closer to achieving my goal. Anytime I see a pack of motorcycle cops rumbling down the highway together, I think back to my own mini-motorcade, and I give the officers an experienced nod that says, "I'm so totally one of you guys." Hey, it's a start.