Gee, Officer Krupke

Would all you beloved miscreants kindly leave me alone now? I’m blogging! Sheesh!

So, today something happened that brought not only the shattering of my pride, but I’m sure will also bring me the disdain of everyone that thought I was smart. And it would be completely and totally deserved. Today I, Katie, got burned. Badly. Shamefully. All I can do is look at myself and go, “Wow…I can’t believe you were that stupid.”

Allow me to explain.

Today as I was talking to Alyce online, my phone rang. I briefly allowed myself to enjoy my “Howl’s Moving Castle” ring tone, and then looked at the number. It wasn’t a number I recognized, and it was a Mississippi area code. Mistake number one.

In any case, I answered and this extremely, um, witchy tone asks if this was Katie’s number (she used my full name). I replied that it was, to which the less than charming voice asked for my address so that my ticket for running a red light on July 15th could be sent to my house. Mistake number two: a real ticket would have been sent automatically to my house because my address would have been on my registration. Sigh. I should have my head shut up in a door or something.

One part of my mind, of course, is trying desperately to remember when I would have run a red light. You see, folks, I simply do not run red lights. I simply do not speed. I’m too darn chicken of being in trouble to ever do anything to bring the law down on me. My career as a cat burglar is shot (of course, me as a cat burglar is an entertaining mental image…I’d probably trip and break my neck and thus avoid all prosecution in the end).

However, the other, larger part of my brain is stoically resigned to getting a ticket and is mentally tabulating how much money I’m going to lose over this crap. I give my address (mistake number three) and then ask where I committed said infraction. The voice informs me that it was on Poplar and Byhalia.

Hold the phone! The last time I was going down Poplar in that direction was way back in the beginning of July, and it was at two in the morning on my way home from a baby-sitting gig. There’s no way I could have run this light…but I wasn’t exactly raised to argue with cops. Mistake number four.

The charade goes on for a bit longer with me getting increasingly irritated and suspicious, until the caller dissolves into giggles.

Yes.

You guessed it. It was my “friend” Hannah, doing a prank call. Let me say, in my own defense, that I haven’t been pranked since I was maybe a sophomore in high school. I was TOTALLY not expecting it now. However, it must be said that I fell for it hook, line and sinker.

I can no longer call myself a witty and intelligent person. The fact that I fell for this prank now, in my “old” age, shames me. Of course, it shames me when I’m not laughing at myself.

Sigh. Let the laughing and pointing of fingers begin. I deserve it, and I accept my fate. I guess posting all this for the world to see is mistake number five.