Continued from “A Bad Hair Day“
She was animated in her speech and started to tell me her life story. I apologized and explained about Jordan under a tree and she seemed disappointed. I think she was hoping to encounter the woman she saw on the platform but the best I could offer was a frazzled mother in a black nylon robe with hair issues. The rain got heavier but I didn’t mind because it brought some relief to the burning sensation on my forehead. I wished her well, thanked her for her kind words and asked her to please forget how I looked.
I made it to the car and gasped at what I saw in the rear view mirror. It was me. By that point, looking like Phyllis Diller would have been a big improvement. I was actually
more akin to The Creepy Creature from the Black Swamp. The spikes were curling and the color was making its way toward my eyebrows. I grabbed a Kleenex, wiped my forehead, and exited the garage. The tennis courts were only five minutes away and just as I was about to turn into the school, I heard a siren. I did not wait for three sirens.
I pulled over and the officer approached.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” He looked at my face and then my hair and then he looked away and caught his breath. He stared as a drip of color streamed slowly down my temple, across my left cheek and halted at the corner of my mouth.
“For looking like The Creepy Creature from the Black Swamp?” I arched my eyebrows and cracked a half smile—testing his humor index. He had none.
“Ma’am, you were traveling 34 MPH in a 20 MPH zone.”
“But Officer, this road is 35 MPH.”
“Not near the school. You should know better.”
“I am SO sorry, I thought that sign only applied during September through June.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of summer school Ma’am?” He wasn’t smiling AT ALL.
I explained my predicament and informed him of Jordan’s precarious position under the tree and of the imminent danger and that our precious son is the only one who can carry on the Lofaro family name. I didn’t mean to get teary but some color got in my eye (they don’t call it chemicals for nothing.) I used some
bottled water and found relief. The policeman stood in the rain and watched without
emotion. Seemed like a robo-cop, if you ask me.
“License and registration please.”I protested (inaudibly) and acquiesced. He told me to stay in the car. That struck my funny bone and I snickered (audibly) since I hadn’t really considered getting out of the car—with the weather—and my hair—and all. He obviously did not own a funny bone. By now, other mothers and babysitters were passing by, slowing down, and cranking their necks to get a closer look at the Swamp Thing in the Durango. I am sure at least one woman from the PTA Board recognized me.
The story continues at “A Bad Hair Day – Part III“