Earlier this week I was pulled over for speeding. I confess I was in the fault by driving well over the posted speed limit; however, in my defense I was dead tired from working on my feet all day and the 1-hr drive back home seemed to stretch forever.

I knew that having this incident on my driving record would cause my insurance rates to shoot through the roof. There was also the $200+ fine I would be required to pay…

…so I decided to go for it…

…again.

Yes, I flirted my way out of a speeding ticket, and this was not my first time.

A scene from “Friends” where Rachel successfully flirts her way out of a ticket while Ross disapprovingly rolls his eyes

I have probably talked/flirted my way out of tickets about 5 times over the 13+ years of my driving career. This isn’t to say that I have never been issued a ticket: the very first time I got pulled over for speeding, I was too scared to say anything to the officer and subsequently received a ticket.

I have not been pulled over in years and years, so I was a bit scared to say the least. However, the words rolled naturally off my tongue and the officer hardly even glanced at my driver’s license! He wished me a nice night and let me go without even a warning.

When I recalled the incident to J, he, like Ross in Friends, rolled his eyes.

“Oh, COME ON! That is SO unfair…”

“Well, would you rather your wife flirt her way out of a ticket or pay the fine?”

“I know, but still. You know guys could never do that.”

I admit he has a point there.

Have you ever talked your way out of a ticket?

Do you disapprove of women flirting their ways out of receiving tickets?

This morning I decided to pee on a stick.

I was so certain I was pregnant again. I had all the symptoms of the first pregnancy: constant nausea, never-ending fatigue, irritability, and sore, swollen boobs.

Nevermind the late period.

Or the fact that J and I had been having consistent unprotected sex for the past two months.

So I peed on a stick. And I waited. And waited some more.

I gave it some extra time, just to make sure that the test would be ready.

I took the test in my hand and looked down, fully expecting to see two lines.

There was only one.

One single pink line, mocking me.

I broke down in tears.

I remember reading that women are extra-fertile in the few months just following a miscarriage.

I guess this is not true in my case. Rather, I want a baby so badly that my body seems to be producing phantom pregnancy symptoms.

It starts with a night out on the town with friends, drinks, and laughter.

We commence our drive back home. It is 4am. The roads are predictably clear and we cruise along at a carefree speed.

We exit the tunnel and continue on to the big curve ahead. We have made this drive hundreds of times before. Just one big curve on the road, adjacent to a magnificent cliff overlooking the Hudson River and the Manhattan skyline. Just one big curve before our exit.

I then realize that we are going too fast. Before I can warn J, inertia takes ahold of the car. We crash through the metal railing and fly off the side of the cliff.

This is it. We’re going to die,  I think.

Contrary to what I had believed, my life does not flash before my eyes. I am afraid for a split second before a sense of calm and acceptance overwhelms my being. I know I have lived an imperfect life, but I also am certain that I will soon be with God.

Most of all, I am happy. I am happy that my last moments here on earth will be spent with J.

I turn to him. We grasp each other’s hands. He opens his mouth as if to say “I’m sorry” but never gets a chance. Because at that moment, I decide to interrupt him once again. Except this time around, I am positive that what I have to say is more important any ‘sorry’s or ‘goodbye’s combined.

“I love you.”

We crash, and I open my eyes.