Soooo...after a reasonably uncomfortable union meeting (I won't go into details as per my personal rules), I was enroute to the local fresh market for some fresh protein and a much needed adult beverage (next door to the fresh market), when I spied a police car in my rear view mirror. Lights ablaze. For me. ME???? I pulled over, no idea of what was going on; it was about 4:20 PM, on my way home from a day of gainful employment, finally in the clear of the gazillion things I've been juggling in my head, and BAMMMMM...it's the MAN.
Long story short, I spaced out on my registration and inspection. Now, a few years ago, I used to receive registration renewal notices in the mail. I counted on them to remind me to prepare for the whole process. They don't come anymore for some reason. That was the first strike. On April 27th, just THREE DAYS BEFORE MY INSPECTION RAN OUT, my brakes started grinding, and I had them replaced. At my dealer. Who charged me big bucks. $650 of them. Do you THINK they'd mention the soon to be due inspection? JUST MAYBE? That's strike 2. Strike 3 is my own complacency. I've been contemplating the meaning of life and stuff. Planting a garden. Milking goats. Teaching kids (both human and goat). Making and matting house tour drawings. Writing papers. Taking care of maternal visits. Working full time. Something had to give. Sheesh. I even forgot to RSVP to an impromptu dinner invitation until the night-of. Sorry El, once again, and I hope you call me back one day when the dust settles. I'm overloaded. Expensively overloaded.
In his defense, the officer could have been MUCH more vindictive. He was kind, and professional, and I could have owed much more. But still...it was a pricey lesson. So what will I do next year? Well, the cell phone is now programmed to go off weekly starting April 1, reminding me to deal with it. My husband's is too. And any other bells and whistles I can locate will soon be employed likewise.
Of course none of the service stations are open at this hour to make an inspection appointment. So what's a girl to do?
What's that, you ask? Only the best alternative to gut-wrenching stomach anchoring pancakes in the history of Scandinavian cookery. Why now, you might ask? Because I picked up a cast iron aebleskiver pan at the thrift store two days ago, and am currently housebound due to my illegal truck. I'm making lemons into lemonade...or traffic fines into pastry. So to speak.
|Is is an Egg Poacher? A Biscuit Pan? No, it's an Aebleskiver Maker!|
|There they are, filled and turned once.|
|Browning off the sides.|
So, the moral of the story is this: If you foul up in an expensive and embarrassing way, and get confined to quarters, raid your pantry and try a new culinary experiment, preferably involving starch, butter, and fruit preserves. This is a good example. Then, you can take it camping, impress your friends, and potentially regain your self-esteem! Hey! Hopefully your truck will be registered and inspected if you do, though. You know mine will be.
Sheesh, what a day!