Portrait City

You know, I am really grateful we have a car we don't have to make payments on. It is a valuable blessing, especially during these economic times.

I am so grateful, in fact, that two weeks ago, I allowed the state of Maryland to take a nice portrait of our car. It turned out really well--the high resolution clearly displays our license plate, our dirty windows, and the shadowy outlines of our heads.

But when we received our portrait in the mail yesterday, there were words I hadn't been expecting on the accompanying notice, words like: fine, speed, exceeding, violation, and payment.

String them all together, and what do you get? A request for payment of a forty dollar fine. Also, if you are married to Joel, you get a lot of ribbing about how you were driving too fast, and you got caught by the radar detectors, and why did that happen, and lots of [meaningful looks].

Because we all know that Joel would NEVER get a speeding ticket. You know, except for that one time in Provo on a residential road. Oh, and that other time coming home from the Salt Lake City airport. And it seems there was another time. . .but I can't quite place it. And all this just in the time we've been married!

"Yes, well you know," I said as I was looking over the notice, "It's funny that they caught me speeding, when you're the one who zips along that road all the time."

"What? Never," he said, shaking his head emphatically. "I never do that on that road."

This morning when Joel brought the violation up again, I braced myself for more teasing.

"Remember that ticket?" He walked over to the calendar. "April 9th. Do you know what day that was? (at this point, his expression turns from questioning to sheepish.) Wasn't that the day we went to Mount Vernon and I drove us back to your parents' house?"

Suddenly, I was flooded with glee. "Wait just a minute here. Are you trying to tell me that after ALL that grief you've given me, and after all that guilt and regret I was feeling, that this is YOUR ticket?"

Joel looked at me, laughed contritely, and walked out of the room. But I didn't care; I felt deliciously vindicated.

And it was great.