Let's just get this right out in the open ... I'm always in a hurry.

Basically, this is because my time management skills aren't the best. I never leave until the minute I have to for anything, which means I have no cushion.

Not even a couple of seconds.

You know, the time it takes to FASTEN A SEAT BELT.

I've been picking my son up from school in the afternoons. I know I need to be there by 3 p.m.

So why would I leave the office before 2:55 p.m.?

I wouldn't.

Yesterday I got busy, and to my horror when I looked at my computer clock it read 2:57 p.m.

Yikes!

Away to my Saturn I flew like a flash, barely shutting the car door as I started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Was I going to make it? Was my son going to panic and think he'd been deserted? Were school officials going to call the authorities at 3:01 p.m. because I wasn't there to pick Will up, so I was obviously an irresponsible dolt who didn't deserve to have children?

These thoughts were consuming my mind, leaving no room for driving or ... you know, traffic laws.

I hit the stop sign at Shadowlawn and Arlington. I spied an Indiana State Trooper to my right, so I made sure to make a complete stop. I smiled at the nice policeman ... and he motioned for me to turn onto Arlington.

Huh?

I rolled down my window.

"Seat belt," he said simply. "Can I see your license and registration?"

Crap!

"I'm late to pick my son up from school," I said, slight hysteria creeping into my voice as I dug through my wallet for my license and my glove box for my registration.

"I'll make it quick," the policeman said, taking my documents.

He sure did. He was back at my window in two minutes flat.

With a ticket.

"It's a $25 fine," he said, almost apologetically. "But you won't get any points on your license."

Like that was good news. In the back of my mind, all I could hear was my husband saying, "That's 25 bucks we can really afford, Jamie. We've got nothing but money."

When I retrieved my son at 3:05 p.m., he wanted to know why I was so late.

"Never mind," I told him.

I hate when I do bonehead things and I can't blame anyone else. I am so mad at myself. My amazing lack of planning skills has cost me money this time.

But hey, on the upside, blogging is a great way to tell your husband you got a traffic ticket.