A blonde police officer pulled over a lady for driving too fast.
As the car came to a halt, the officer approached the driver’s side window, her posture exuding confidence and professionalism.
She leaned down, her eyes her meeting those of the driver, a middle-aged woman whose expression betrayed trepidation.
“Ma’am, I need to see your driver’s license,” the officer requested, her tone stern yet courteous.
The woman began rummaging through her purse.
As the seconds ticked by, the driver’s agitation grew. She finally looked up at the officer, her brow furrowed in frustration.
“What does it look like?” the woman inquired, her voice tinged with exasperation.
The officer, accustomed to such queries, responded with a patient explanation:
“It’s square, and it has your picture on it.”
The woman kept rummaging for her licence, her hands searching deeper and depper into her purse.
Finally, her fingers closed around a small, square object.
With a triumphant flourish, she produced a compact mirror and handed it to the officer, declaring, “Here it is!”
The officer glanced down at the mirror.
Quickly regaining her composure, she handed the mirror back to the woman, her tone completely changed:
“OK, you can go. I didn’t realize you were a cop.”
