Yesterday evening around seven my wife turned to me and said “What were you doing at this very minute 27 years ago today?” I responded unhesitatingly, “I was being pulled over by the California Highway Patrol”.
Yesterday was our 27th wedding anniversary. After a morning wedding at my wife’s parish church in Southern California and a delightful brunch reception at a local restaurant, we hopped on a plane for San Jose and rented a car to drive to a quick honeymoon in Carmel before driving my wife’s truck, her pet rabbit, and her possessions back home to Evanston. The Highlands Inn is idyllic, by the way.
My wife drove from the airport to the Inn. She generally drives when we’re in the car together. Thirty or forty minutes from the airport we were pulled over for speeding by a female California Highway Patrol officer. My wife turned to me, angry at herself, and said “This is a great way to start our married life”. The CHP officer asked “You were just married? Show me your rings. They’re too shiny!” She let us off with a warning.
We single folk out here don’t think it’s funny that such deference shown married folk is pervasive in our society. Deference on top of 1000+ tax, inheritance, insurance, Social Security, Medicaid, immigration and naturalization privileges.
Probably having vodka drinks with my brother and his partner at the apartment we shared not far off Lemmon Ave at the edge of Highland Park in Dallas.
It’s possible that I was working on an assignment for a drawing course that I was taking for fun. I took a few art classes at the local junior college during that time frame.
One can only say congratulations and best wishes for 27 more.
Dave, do you periodically return to the Highlands Inn or pick out some other gorgeous destination for major anniversary celebrations?
Great story, Dave!
When I got married, my parents and sister went to my wedding without thinking how I would get there. I was young, carless, and with two of my four bridemaid left stranded at home (plus a botched hairdo job, as well). After calling boyfriends of my bridesmaid (who had already left for the long drive up the coast), I rummaged around and found keys to an old family car.
With me at the wheel, and my two friends on the bench seat next to me, we drove 90 miles an hour to get to my wedding on time. I left out the bridal vail, in case we would be pulled over, to show the police that I was a bride late to her wedding. We pulled into the dirt parking lot, doing a wheelie (I once had a boyfriend who raced cars), which left dust all over my almost-husband’s best friend (a great introduction). However, after that it was a seamless wedding.
Memories…..