Lying to the Cops: My New Year's Resolution is to Start Telling the Truth to Police Officers

It's that time of year when we all start thinking about how to better ourselves by making New Year's resolutions. Some people will resolve to quit smoking. Some people will vow to lose weight. Some people will promise to stop lying to police officers. I fall into the latter category.

I've never been a good liar. So I don't know what in the world I was thinking when I lied to a cop a couple of weeks ago after my husband got pulled over for speeding.

As the Sheriff's Deputy, who incidentally bore a striking resemblance to Robert Diniro, approached the car he squinted into the window with a raised eyebrow and inquired "Did you know your license plates are faded?"

Oddly, my first thought, even though as I said, I'm not much of a liar, was to lie.

"They ARE?" I could have blubbered incredulously as though I hadn't looked at them in two years -- which is about how long ago the last trace of red ink had finally vanished completely from MRV-742. But, like the honest person I usually am, I nodded and said, yes, I was aware of that. But then, suddenly seized with an overwhelming fear of being arrested due to ignorance of some obscure federal law forbidding driving with faded license plates for more than, say, a month, I added hastily, "They've really faded fast over the past few weeks."

Doh!

As the officer and my husband stared at me in stunned silence, realizing that they'd probably just heard the lamest, most pitiful attempt at deception ever attempted, I knew for sure I was going to jail now.

License plate ink doesn't fade fast! Lipstick fades fast. Dying people fade fast. Memories fade fast. But LICENSE PLATES DO NOT FADE FAST!

If I had only bought that bottle of fingernail polish and touched up the numbers like I'd been meaning to for a couple of years. But to be honest, I'd sort of enjoyed having all white plates. It gave one a certain sense of anonymity, of freedom. And now it was giving a ticket or perhaps a night in the clink.

"I'll be right back," the officer said as he turned to walk back to his squad car.

My husband looked at me and said, "Faded fast?"

"Speaking of fast!" I retorted.

Luckily the officer didn't find any outstanding warrants, tickets, or unpaid Policeman's Association pledges when he called in our invisible plates. (Which reminds me, I have to remember to put that decal they sent me in a very prominent place on my windshield, if you know what I mean, wink, wink.) Amazingly, he let us go with merely a warning, and a strict order to contact the DMV to get our plates replaced.

"Yes sir," I lied. Again.

Well, if you had a choice between standing in line at the DMV and paying 12 bucks for a new set of plates, not to mention a $5.00 "counter fee" for the pleasure, or checking out the newest shades of red polish in the nail section of the department store what would you do?

Besides, it's not January 1st just yet.