This was a time when I was pregnant with my first child and well into my last month.
Hubby and I drove a black 1964 Corvette at the time. We had been looking at "family cars" but hadn't made the decision to trade the 'vette in yet. We couldn't agree on what to get. My girlfriends at the time thought it was really "cool" to drive a 'vette around. And I guess it would have been if I hadn't been pregnant and barely fit between the seat and steering wheel.
On this particular evening, I decided that I needed to go to the local Seven/Eleven. Gosh, I don't even remember for what anymore, but went I did.
I was near the refrigerator/cooler where they keep the milk and soft drinks and water when it happened. I hadn't been in the store very long, but the need to "pee" was overtaking my ability to walk. Anyone who has ever been pregnant knows the feeling! When the baby is so large and pushing on your bladder, you need to find a bathroom.....FAST! Back then the rest rooms in the Seven/Eleven were for "employees only". You guessed it. I wet my pants right there on the floor in front of the refrigerator. The store was almost empty thank goodness. The only other customer was at the counter checking out at the time. I had to do something and quick. But what could I do? I didn't want to go to the cashier and tell him that I wet all over the floor.
So I did the only thing that a respectable, pregnant lady could do! I reached into the refrigerator, pulled out a water, opened it and poured half of it on the floor. I then proceeded to the counter and told the cashier that the bottle must have had a leak in it while I was standing there deciding what I needed. And then......I left. I just walked out that door! I got in the car and headed for home.
But that's not the end of the story. The store was about 2 miles from where I lived and while driving home I saw police lights flashing behind me. Well, I had been taught in drivers training that you have to pull to the side and let the emergency vehicles past, so of course that's what I did. And the cop pulled over behind me and promptly got out of his cruiser and came to talk to me. My mind is racing and I'm trying to figure out what I did wrong. They can't arrest you for having a peeing accident on the floor of a Seven/Eleven, can they?
The officer asks to see my registration and proof of insurance for the vehicle. I reach for the glove box and freeze. My husband has a concealed weapons permit, I do not! There is a .22 pistol in the locked glove box. All I can think of is that the officer will arrest me for carrying a concealed weapon without the proper permit and my baby will be born in jail. I look at the officer and my eyes well up with tears and I tell him that I only have the key to start the car. The key to the glove box is home with my husband and if he would like to follow me there, I will be more than happy to produce the requested registration and proof of insurance.
He tells me he will follow me home and the reason he pulled me over in the first place was because they had a report of a stolen Corvette that matched the description of the one I was driving. Great! A stolen vehicle matching the description of the one I am driving and I can't produce the registration and proof of insurance. Looking a little fishy, right? I'm thinking that he took pity on me in my advanced state of pregnancy and figured no pregnant lady in her right mind would try and steal a car, let alone a Corvette, and get away with it.
Anyway, he followed me home and Hubby came out and when I explained to him what was going on, he produced his own glove box key and opened the glove box retrieving the registration and proof of insurance without once disturbing the .22 pistol. The officer was never aware that the glove box even contained a gun.
To this day, I am convinced that I could not have gotten the registration and proof of insurance out with so much finesse and my first child would most certainly have been born in the local lock-up!