A Day in the Art of Being Bad
This is so fun. Now that Amber has claimed swearing as her guilty pleasure, I get to choose another one! I’ve been thinking about that all day. It’s been fun thinking about all of the things that I do, that I am not supposed to do. Swearing, and…. Swearing, and… I’ve made a bit of a list. It’s long. Bein’ bad is kind of like an essential nutrient. Somewhere between swilling pints, hippie jibbing, and shocking the howlies, I decided on my favourite guilty pleasure.
Big ones. Fat ones. Short ones. Skinny ones. I don’t discriminate.
Just to honour the “whaaa?”… Yes, yes, I’m careful. I do it fairly consciously, and I always look both ways first. And yes, these reds are just barely red. There is no danger to another driver, and the only danger to me would be the ticket for running an amber. There are also parameters. I do it in my home town, only. I can’t do it AT ALL in Hamilton, where I live. The personality of the roads in Hamilton is different, there is more police presence, and there are even red light cameras at random intersections.
Really, guilty pleasures are far more satisfying if you don’t get caught. The getting caught part for me – especially in this scerario – would be expensive and embarrassing.
“Do you know why I pulled you over, Ma’am?” the officer would say.
“Yes, of course I do,” I’d say respectfully. “I’m forty-teen.”
I wonder if I’d get a ticket?