The Bad Mom

 How many omens does one lucky girl get before she’s sent to the clinker? It started out as harmless trip to the beach to watch the fireworks. Beth was driving so I hit the bong a few times and we were on our way, so I thought. In that 15-minute ride, Beth got the text she had been waiting all day for. It was her Booty Call.Do you mind dropping me off at my friend’s house?

No Problem, I say, in need of my own booty call, I’m sympathetic to being ditched with the kids, I’d do the same thing. But wait, I did smoke earlier and Beth’s registration is expired and she hasn’t paid her insurance in months I’m sure it’s canceled and the older kids aren’t in their proper car seats, oh fuck it.

As I turned from 7^th onto Capitola Road there were flashing lights and cops everywhere. A large blinking signs read: Sobriety checkpoint.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What’s wrong? My 9-year-old niece asks.

The police just need to ask us some questions to make sure we’re not drinking. But just in case: I want you kids to be very brave, nothing bad will happened, this will just be another adventure to tell your therapist when you grow up.

I hand the young officer my Oregon Drivers License.

Have you had anything to drink this evening?

No Sir.

Thank you.

No thank you for keeping our roads safe, officer. See children this is why you shouldn’t drink and drive. I tell the children as I put my ID back in my wallet.

Wait, the cop taps the roof of my sister’s Honda.

Fuck.

Tighten that kids seat belt in the back.

OK I yell as I speed away.

Fuck.

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