The Need for Speed

I am nervous as I drive up, and see that you are already home. Hesitantly I walk into the house, knowing and fearing what is to come.

You're sitting at the kitchen table. Not even making eye contact with you, I reach into my purse and pull out the folded yellow piece of paper. It's still slightly stained with a few of my teardrops, from my unsuccessful attempts to invoke sympathy from the policeman.

Trembling, I remember last time, and how long it was before I was able to wear a bra again--and that was only 14mph over the limit, not 22.

I bite my lip and curse myself--*why* didn't I throw out that cat o' nine tails during spring cleaning, when I had the chance?

Vainly, I hope that you will be understanding. Or at the very least that I will be allowed to wear a t shirt this time.

I look at you, and I wait.