A couple of years ago, Leif went off to hang out with some guy friends to sit around a bon fire and smoke cigars, drink brandy, and talk about manly things like power tools and video games. My husband picked up a friend on the way, who happens to be married to one of my friends, so she and I had a marathon phone chat date once our respective kids were in bed or otherwise out of our hair.

Eventually, the boys texted to say they were on the way home, and my friend and I got off the phone. It took Leif way longer to get home than it should have. I was still trying to decide whether to be mad or worried at him taking so long, and mulling over that decision with (another) glass of wine when he finally walked in the door.

“What took you so long??”

“I got pulled over.”

Horrified, I gasped, “Did you get a DUI?”

“Yes, Honey. Then they let me get back in the car and drive home.”

Oh. Total blonde moment.

Anyway, we were headed home from wine tasting drinking with friends yesterday when traffic came to a standstill two blocks from our house. We had been driving for 45 minutes, I was not the least bit sober, and Thing 2 had been crying most of the way, because apparently that’s what she does now. Leif had had some wine earlier, but he was my designated driver, so he was careful to stay within his limits.

A block away from our house, the police had set up a sobriety checkpoint.

Since I’m me, I immediately notified Twitter of the atrocity, and then told Thing 1 to keep her lips absolutely zipped, and if she said one word out loud, I’d send her new bike back to the North Pole. I could just imagine, “But Daddy, you did drink wine!” and I had no desire to explain to Mr. Just-Doing-His-Unconstitutional-Job-Policeman that that had been hours ago.

She just nodded. Even Thing 2 stopped crying. It must have been a really good mom look.

We finally pulled up for our turn. Leif rolled his window down.

“Evenin’, Sir,” said the officer.

“Evenin’,” responded my sober husband. I kept my mouth shut, because if I opened it, I probably would’ve gone off on the fourth amendment and unreasonable searches and seizures.

“Have you been drinking tonight?”

Two heartbeats later, Leif answered, “Yes.”

Gah.

The officer peered into my husband’s drained face, saw eyes glassy from listening to a three-year-old scream for 45 minutes straight, and I swear he was about to ask him to get out of the car and take a sobriety test, which of course he would’ve passed, but we all just really wanted to get home at that point.

I did the only thing I could do. I snorted. “I’d hardly call one glass of wine four hours ago drinking, Honey. Officer, if I were driving, you’d totally have to arrest me, but my husband is my designated driver tonight.”

The dude looked at me, and then suspiciously back to Leif. Thing 2, bless her heart, chose that minute to start screaming again. The officer looked in the back seat at the children, one of which had obviously been crying for some time, then back to us.

“Get your family home safely and have a good night.”

30 seconds later, we pulled in the driveway, threw the girls into bed, turned on How I Met Your Mother, and banished Leif’s sobriety with some more wine.

Bah humbug to illegal DUI checkpoints.

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