I had originally meant to mention in the course of The Poky Puppy that whilst I had been pulled over no fewer than four times in my life (warning, 1997; tail light out, 1998; ticket, 1998; ticket, 2003), all of those occasions had featured a Volkswagen (the teenagemobile Jetta, then the Golf), and that I considered the likelihood of a cop pulling over the Poky Puppy remote in the extreme. It’s just not the kind of car cops go after.

So of course, tonight, on my way back to my digs chez LadyLong, I pulled out onto a very well-lit street I have traveled many a time, went through a few intersections, la-dee-dah, put on the cruise control at 41 mph in a 35 speed zone, la-dee-dah, oh shit that oncoming car has a light bar BRAKE oh shit I shouldn’t have braked oh shit he is turning around oh shit oh shit but I wasn’t going that fast oh shit god his headlights are bright maybe I’m getting a migraine—headlights. Are my headlights on? click. I was driving with only my running lights on. After a friendly chat with the Hillsboro PD officer, assuring him I had only been driving a short way, I didn’t mean to leave my lights off, I hadn’t been drinking, and I could, in fact, find my registration in my glove box despite a few strata of Les Schwab warrantees and an inexplicable toy sailboat, I was on my way. No harm done, except to the Poky Puppy’s self-image as the kind of car a cop’s eyes slide right over. Ah well.