9-1-WHAT????

I had an encounter with THE MAN today. The fuzz, big 50 (I don't even know where those nicknames came from), a man in blue (although he wore black), the Po Po. Yes... I had an encounter with the police. Why, you ask? Is everything ok? Am I blogging from a Wi Fi prison cell right now? Well, yes, I answer (to the second question, no to the third). All is well except for the small fact that I have a habit of humiliating myself, like I did this morning.

As those of you who know me know, I have a mom calling habit. I talk to my mom easily three or four times a day (its been twice today and its 9:35a). This would be ok except her phone number is 917-number number number number (I am not giving you her full phone number... if she is busy talking to you, who I am going to talk to 4,000 times in the next hour?). My crappy cordless stuck and instead of dialing 917, I dialed 911. I hung up immediately. Called the correct number, began my diatribe in my mom's ear when "BEEP"... call waiting. I click over and its a lovely 911 operator making sure everything is ok. Nice response. I suppose if Charles Manson's younger Hoosier brother was here ready to slice off my head, I would appreciate the follow up. So, I explain to Ms. 911 Operator that all is fine, I tried to call mom, but called metro police instead. Oops. Laugh. Hang up. I then continue to talk my mom's ear off, ranting about life in general when I wander up the entryway and see.... a POLICE CRUISER parked outside my house. GAH! And a very authoritative and extremely attractive policeman exiting said cruiser and walking up my drive. DOUBLE GAH! What do I do? I really thought about running and hiding, but felt that could cause SWAT to be summoned or something. So, I humbly opened the door and explained to Officer Hotness that everything was fine, I dialed incorrectly... please come in and search the joint (or me... wink wink) so you know Chucky Manson isn't here. He stepped in, did a wide sweep with his gorgeous brown eyes (no doubt taking in my blindingly hot pink pj top, flannel plaid bottoms, unkempt hair from the lack of shower, and saggy boobs on the floor from the lack of bra) and decided all was right with the world... or at least with my household. No Lynn search necessary.

I have to give the police department props for their response. If I was about to be murdered, dialed 911 and had the phone ripped from my hands by my assailant, I would be thrilled with their concern and their two follow ups thus preventing my grisly death. But, seeing as how I just mis-dialed, am still in obnoxious pjs and no bra... I will just die of embarrassment instead. And do you want to know the worst part? While this scene happened as told this morning... its happened before. TWICE.