the police and the mayor

This morning, the boys dressed for church. The oldest came downstairs looking like a young Mormon. White short-sleeved dress shirt with a pen in the pocket, khaki pants, and a black backpack. You need to know his occupation to understand the dress code. He is the mayor, you see. He is learning to shake hands and give speeches.
His brother wanted to know how to spell "POLICE" because he wanted to write it on a scrap of paper. After much work, he spelled the word, handed me the paper and a clothes pin so I could clip it to his shirt pocket. He wanted me to insure that I did not cover any of the letters.
He told everyone he encountered at church that he was, in fact, "the POLICE" and he was there to fight the bad guys. He told me later there were no bad guys in Sunday school today, but there was one person who was not being very nice. humph.
Speaking of the police....a guy rear-ended me the other night. There were three police cars there with lights flashing before I could even give the 911 guy my name.
Ladies, let me say this...do as I say and not as I do... don't get out of the car if you are rear-ended especially at night. Just call 911 and sit tight. My mom told me years ago when I moved to Atlanta that guys would target single females driving.
Granted it happened at a major intersection in front of city hall, well lit and all, but after it happened, my adrenaline was pumping and I had to do something. I also say this for myself as a lesson for next time, because I also heard stories about people impersonating police officers and pulling over females to do nothing but cause them harm.
I was fine, our truck had a little fleck on the bumper, the Pontiac Sunbird that ran into me had a pretty bad bumper and headlight damage.

These cops were great. This in sharp contrast to one of their colleagues I encountered two weeks before. I ended up in a grocery store parking lot one day due to a series of roadblocks that seemed to be dumping all the traffic there. I stopped in front of a cop to tell him the road blocks didn't seem to be making much sense. He came over to the car to tell me that there was a large gas main break. As he said this, I could hear a large hissing sound coming from the construction sight over his shoulder.
I decided to spare my words about the roadblocks and asked him the easiest way to get home. He looked at me and said, "How long have you lived here?"
"Five years," I answered, not understanding how this helped me get home.
"You mean to tell me, you have lived here five years and you don't even know your way around these roads yet?" he said in that smart-alecky "couldn't get cast in 'Dukes of Hazard' as the sherriff" southern drawl.
I wanted to smack his sassy mouth. But I had visions of Zsa Zsa Gabor and Cynthia McKinney in my head, and I thought the boys might be traumatized by seeing their sweet mother cuffed and arrested.
Just as I was about to tell him thank you very much and be on my way. They Bubba in the 4X4 truck behind me yelled, "Hey if you're giving directions around this say it a little louder so I can hear!"
The cop suddenly softened and gave directions in his polite, glad to help you "safety cop" voice.
That is what "the POLICE" do, Q says....help people. Q adds as we drive away, "I'm going to be POLICE too, when I grow up."
razzle fraggle.....Good thing Q can't read minds.