So early in the evening, I was driving in the car, on my way to pick up Ezra’s Mommy at her office downtown. We were going to a social event. As I was approaching my destination, I received a call from Ezra’s Mommy, reminding me that I was supposed to pick her up at the court that day (not the office), in another part of town, and that we would be late. She had reminded me numerous times to pick her up at that location that day, but with the onset of senility and all, I forgot. So I regrouped, turned around, and maneuvered to get through the rush hour traffic so I could get to Ezra’s Mommy. I managed to maneuver my way through all sorts of buses and cars that were in my way. I thought I was home free.
Then a police car pulled me over, no doubt as part of the city’s recession-era, revenue enhancement efforts. I was still on the phone with Ezra’s Mommy, told her where I was, and that there was a law enforcement situation that required my attention and I would talk to her later. Apparently, or allegedly, as I was told, I had made an improper right turn. As I waited for what seemed to be hours, as the officer wrote what could have been a full-length novel, given the time he spent writing it, an exasperated Ezra’s Mommy, who had travelled miles it seemed to find me, walked up to the car and asked if she could get in. I wasn’t sure—the officer hadn’t completed my application to participate in the city’s revenue enhancement program— but I told her I thought it was ok.
Finally we were on our way, and we made it to our event. One of the attendees, the first person to speak to me, asked me inappropriate personal questions, while another person congratulated Ezra’s Mommy on the birth of our new baby. Other things might have happened, but I was in a fog for the rest of the evening, just singing the lyrics to “Ooh Child” to myself.