The traffic stop began normally enough – flashing lights, a polite request for documents. Then the sweet-looking grandmother rolled down her window. “Oh officer,” she tittered, “I haven’t had a valid license since the Nixon administration!”
When asked about the Mercedes she was driving, her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Found it parked outside the courthouse during my probation hearing. Seemed a shame to waste such nice leather seats.” The rookie cop’s notebook fell to the pavement when she added, “Don’t worry about fingerprints – I wear gloves now.”
By the time SWAT arrived, the woman was casually reapplying lipstick. “All this fuss over a missing person?” she chuckled. “The trunk would be the last place I’d put someone!” Its spotless interior revealed only grocery bags.
Her perfectly valid license appeared like a magic trick. “That nice young man,” she confided to the police chief, “must be watching too many crime shows. Next he’ll say I ran a red light!” The department still can’t decide whether to reprimand the officer or nominate the woman for stand-up comedy night.
