Take Me Home, Mr. Officer

I’d never sat in a police car before which is really rather shocking counting how many times I’d been caught drinking quite heavily before my twenty-first year. At any rate, I was finally invited into the back seat of a black and white. The door was opened and I gracefully slid in, hiccupping and talking too loudly about the sheer lack of comfort that the plastic seat failed to provide.
I was home from Los Angeles for a quick two week vacation—a retrieval of my mind and heart, the rebirth of my laughter. Also, my sister was due to pop with her little bastard. It was an emotional week that I was ready to spoon up and devour; I opened my mouth and invited every flavor in. And so, Saturday night rolled into sight and plans were made to take First Street.
First Street is quite an event…rather like walking back into high school and telling everyone to “Fuck off! You got Fat!” “Fuck off! You are still here!” And to the boy that I wasted four years of eye goggling at: “Fuck off! Can’t have me now!” All of this shouting while I flounce around in my cute little dress throwing hugs out like candy on Halloween. We girls are really such catty bitches but hey, it makes me feel good and I know I’m not alone because every time I fly home my dear cousin is sure to drive up and meet me in our hometown so we can do First Street together. We become a chorus line of Fuck Offs!
The Night had gone quite well, I can’t count how many “Fuck Offs! “ I had gotten to throw around that night but I know that my self esteem was soaring. Drinks had been bought, dances had been given, and last call had been called. Amos Otis (my darling cousin) and I stumbled into the night at which point things get hazy. An officer drove us home and let us pose against his car like pinup models of long ago. All this why he flashed his guns and his pearly whites. Only in Snohomish.
A week later, My mother and I found ourselves in the courtyard over a fire and under blooming clematis (which we are ought to do in the summer) and we were apparently playing our music a little too loudly (brought on by one too many glasses of red wine) and the old ears and old spirits of an unknown neighbor called us in. Noise Complaint. And guess who shows up to registrar said complaint; a blushing officer of the law.