Stop. Before you start envying me from the get-go, just stop. It will get you nowhere. Envy, greed, covetousness, malice aforethought - all those things - you know, the seven deadlies? - will not serve you well here. And probably not a lot of other places either, but here especially. I would love to share this honor with you though, and so I shall.
A little while back, not so very long ago, but long enough to make me even more overdue in my blogging career, I was wandering the wilds of Oh Canada. Why is it that whenever I'm in the company of my much older sister and parents that I end up in some sort of vehicularly embarrassing episode?
I was sweetly and kindly driving the folks through the beautiful countryside, occasionally pausing to point out various wildlife (signs) and stop for photo opps. I say wildlife signs because there were approximately 402,381 signs warning us of the Dire Dangers of Constant Wildlife Crossing the Roads. Caribou! Bears! Elk! Deer! Bighorn Sheep and/or Goats! Apparently they were just hovering near the roadside, stalking us behind the tree lines, hoping to take out our entire traveling party. They've even built overpasses just for the supposed animals.
Nope. Didn't happen. We did, however, see a cute baby chipmunk on the trail to the glacier gift shop. And a bighorn sheep in a construction zone, munching next to the men in orange. And one baby bear eating berries surrounded by tourists - the mother probably lurking nearby plotting which one of us to take out first. Not a hoof, horn or padded paw ever hit pavement. But back to the Queen.
Firstly, you must understand the serious height of those there mountains.
Secondly, in case you don't know it already (which I didn't before I left home) they have some serious speed issues there. Meaning that they want you to go basically backwards, their speed limits are so low. Now take into account that for six, count 'em, SIX DAYS I have been going the speed limit to PERFECTION out of police paranoia. That means I have been on perfect highways with hardly a soul in sight, not to mention animals, and I have been going 50 miles per hour. Per hour. I say again. 50 miles per hour. I aged 15 years driving that slow. But I did it. With a smile on my face and a song in my heart. I think I even caught myself whistling the Andy Griffith theme song somewhere along the way. We were at the Peak - The Top - The Pinnacle Itself - of probably one of the highest mountains in the entire universe, when Lo! look to the right! Yet another gorgeous mountainous view with a Spectacularly placed lake right in front. My foot might have come off the brake a tad bit on the downhill. Seriously. We had not seen one policeman all week. Nor had I sped. Speeded? But, as luck would have it, just at that exact moment, the one officer of the entire Trans Canadian highway system appeared. I just bowed to the inevitable, hung my head in shame and pulled over as he hit the lights.
Surely, surely I thought, he wouldn't give an out-of-country-er a ticket? til I remembered we were all idiot tourists up there and he wouldn't get to give out any tickets if he waited for his fellow Canucks to break 55. Blast. He wandered over, Officer Kennedy, and I immediately admitted my guilt, apology, etc., saying "I'm sorry, we got sidetracked looking at the scenery going down the hill" to which he replied "Oh yeah? Usually people slow DOWN to look at scenery". Double blast. Sarcasm is not a good sign in a police/victim relationship. So yeah, I got the ticket. But he says he cut down the speed so he saved me a hundred dollars on the ticket. Curse me for going the indecent speed of 65 on a Perfectly Decent Isolated Highway in THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. I am not bitter. I am grateful. I am. I am. I am. I am convincing myself a little more every day in fact.
So there you have it. My $66.00 ticket that demands I appear before the Queen in her court, or pay the fee over the internet in Canadian funds. I think I'll pay over the internet. My wig needs powdering, my bustle is broke and I haven't a thing to wear.