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I just really like the flashing lights

The world was laughing at me last night, you guys.


My plan yesterday (this was my first mistake; when I make plans it never ends well) was to spend the afternoon shopping for a wedding dress in Sioux Falls. This part of the plan was actually a complete success and I’m planning on going back to buy a dress next week. YIPPEE!

We had a great day dress shopping (me, my sister, my cousin and mi madre) and spent time at the mall afterward. After dinner at Bracco (ONLY the best restaurant ON THE PLANET) and a fruity drink served inside a pineapple

my mom and sister headed home and my cousin and I made a pit stop at Target before we headed to Vermillion (cousin) and Sioux City (me). I was going to visit my friend who is moving to Arizona next weekend and to take family photos for a fellow Briar Cliff student. It was going to work out super well: I was going to make a little money and see a good friend before she took off. Right?


When we came out of Target there was a note on my window from a nice person informing me that my right rear tire was flat (thank you nice person!). My car had been telling me to check tire pressure for about a day, but until this point it wasn’t flat, or even noticeably low, so I was just going to take care of it when I got home on Saturday. Well now it was LOW. Super low. We were able to drive a few blocks back to Katie’s car where we called her dad (a mechanic; thank you God) who told us to stay put because who knows how long we’ve been driving on it super low and the last thing you want is for it to blow. Awesome.

THANKFULLY Katie has Triple A so we gave them a ring and they said they’d be there within an hour. An hour. Boo. At this point I thought I’d still be able to make it to Sioux City, but I knew it would be late. I emailed my client the situation and told her I’d keep her posted, and texted my friend to let her know I thought I could still make it, but I’d be late.

This whole time I’m in a dress and it’s been a long day and hey I think I have sweat pants in the trunk, right? So I change into sweat pants and a tank top in the Starbucks parking lot, putting on a nice show to everyone in the Taco Bell drive thru.

You’re welcome.

Eventually our friend from Triple A shows up and even though he is super sweet and definitely our savior, he sadly has to inform me that the tire is, in fact, flat and there is a nail in it.


So he slaps the donut on the car and informs me that yes, I can drive on it, but probably not very fast so maybe I should go to Walmart and have them repair it quick so I can get home.

We call Walmart and they inform us the tire shop closes at 9. It’s 9. I’m not even kidding. EXACTLY 9 p.m.

At this point I’m frantically trying to get ahold of my client and let her know I won’t be able to make it to Sioux City, but it’s 9 at night and all I have is an email address. (Luckily I DID end up getting ahold of her and she was super sweet and understanding about everything; but still, I felt so bad!)

After evaluating whether I want to stay in Sioux Falls for the night or just make the slow trip home in the dark, I decide to hit the road and just get home to sleep in my own bed. I started out going 45 mph with my warnings flashing on the interstate, which is basically the most terrifying thing ever, but then my dad calls and says at 45 I’m a hazard and I need to go at least 55. I tell him I don’t want the donut flying off and making me road kill, at which time he informs me I’m overreacting.

I tell him Fine, when I die you can have my computer.

He says, Thanks, I’ve always been an Apple guy.


So I pick up the pace and by the time I really get into a groove I’m probably going 58 mph, which really isn’t so bad, right? Well wrong, because 10 miles from home I get pulled over by Highway Patrol.

I don’t know about you, but whenever I get pulled over (which I guess is like twice, but still) I immediately start panicking.

CRAP, they’re gonna find all my cocaine! or something else that’s ridiculously impossible because I don’t keep cocaine in my car, obviously.

Just kidding, I don’t have any cocaine.

Ugh, now this post is going to lead to an investigation.

Drug free is the way to be.

Now where were we…

So the HiPo pulls me over and he’s like,

“The reason I’ve pulled you over is because you have your warnings on, which I’m assuming is because you have a recently repaired tire?”

[No, I get a kick out going 55 down the interstate and I think flashing lights are pretty.]


“Alright, well that’s just fine, we can pick up the pace a little bit. You’re almost home so that’s good.”

[Pick up the pace?? I’m going 58! Do you want me to die!]

“Um, how fast can I go with a donut?”

“Well, it depends on the size of your car, but with a vehicle this size you should be fine going up to 60.”



[…which is what I was going…?]

I sincerely think that this dude was just bored as hay-ell and decided to pick me up for a little chat.

“Oh…OK…well thanks.”

“Yup, you bet!”

And then he followed me for a little bit longer, so the last ten minutes of my drive was a combination of fear that I was going to die from going too fast and fear that he was going to pull me over again for going too slow.

I got pulled over for going too slow.

This is my life, you guys.

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