The other day something bad happened.
I’m not going to tell you what it was.
Let’s just say it involved an administrative oversight on my part, in a house-hold related matter, and it is going to cost us hundreds of dollars and if I’d been more on the ball then it would never have happened.
Okay, I am going to tell you. Of course I am. I can’t keep these kinds of secrets – except from my mother, and that’s purely a survival instinct.
I was driving back from a few days away with my youngest son when we came to one of those police set-ups where they pull you over and breath-test you and check your licence, etc. I was unconcerned. I hadn’t been drinking or speeding, I knew my licence was valid.
What I’d forgotten was the car registration.
It had expired four days previously.
Might as well have been forty days, or four hundred, as far as the police were concerned.
We’d had a challenging couple of weeks, with my newly-licenced daughter involved in an accident that mercifully left her unhurt – totally the other driver’s fault; he ran a red light – but the car rolled and was a write-off, and my husband was out of the country, so I’d been dealing with the insurance and the very shaky feeling of relief that our precious girl wasn’t injured – except for her confidence – and I’d completely forgotten that the re-registration papers had arrived.
My husband is due back from his trip any second. Now, I could probably get away with NOT telling him. He does our taxes, but I handle the bills and credit card statements. I’ve paid the registration now. I could just quietly pay the fine – there’s even an installment plan – and he need never find out.
But I know I will tell him. And I know he’ll be good about it, because I’m always good when he makes those administrative slips himself. He had an almost identical problem five years ago – his licence had expired a few days previously – really our luck with police roadblocks is not good in this area – and we’d had a challenging couple of weeks and he’d forgotten to renew it.
How about you? Do you confess when you’ve made this kind of a mistake? Who do you tell? Who do you keep it from? (I’m seriously not telling my mother.) Or is your life under such admirable control that these things don’t happen to you at all?