Last night, an event that was really unusual took place: my husband called the cops on a drunk driver. Or, should I say, what he thought was a drunk driver. First off, this guy was really annoying me, but I never pick up the phone, because I'm too afraid to be wrong and screw up somebody's day. That's not really the case with my husband, as he tends to think that if he doesn't do it, who will? 

And, I guess, in this case, he was right, which is actually the unusual part because as we all know, I am always right. Except this time.

There. I said it. He was right and I was wrong. Moving on.

We went to get an ice cream cone at McDonald's and this guy was behind us, with his radio turned up super loud, being really obnoxious. I thought it was a teenager, but upon further inspection, it turned out to be a guy in his 40s. Ugh. So my husband is watching the guy, kind of laughing at him, because he's pretty much acting like the poster child for male menopause, when he sees the guy take a a swig out of a beer bottle.

Now, this is the part where I doubted his judgment. I thought, "What if it's just a soft drink in a brown bottle?" but my husband was sure. So when we finished getting our ice cream, which was handed to us by a girl who ever-so-eloquently said, "Some people just don't know how to learn!", we drove off and waited for the guy to leave McDs, while dialing the police.

We ended up following the guy for a while because the lady on the phone was too busy talking to her sister on her cell while taking the police calls to actually dispatch a cop quickly, so she had us follow him to make sure we didn't lose him. After a while, though, he was driving so fast and passing people where there was a double yellow line that we decided to just hang up and be done, even though my husband hadn't gotten the chance to say "10-4" or "niner" yet.

All was not lost, however, because when we pulled up to the one stoplight in our little community, the cops had him pulled over by the side of the road, and eventually he was arrested, and (yes, we did go back to watch) he had a bunch of little kids in the back seat of his car. That part was very sad, but there's no way anyone who drives like that should be transporting little kids. For reals. Plus, the guy was wearing those gangsta-type shorts that are worn so low and are so long that they really look like capri pants to me, which makes me laugh, and it's probably not a good idea to laugh at that type of guy. He'd probably punch me in the face or shoot me or something. Or he'd laugh at my stylish pajama pants (in my defense, I never actually got out of the car in public, so my pj pants were perfectly acceptable). Apparently, the guy wasn't just drinking out of an IBC root beer bottle.

So my husband was right and I was wrong. There, again.