Last night, Child and I passed through a Sobriety Checkpoint in southern Utah. Child was driving. As we reached the front of the line, she rolled down the window and the deputy walked up.
Deputy: "How's it going?"
Obviously pregnant woman: "Fine."
D: "Have you been drinking?"
OPW: (Pats stomach) "No."
D: "Can I see your license?"
OPW: "I don't have it with me."
D: "But you have one? And it's not suspended?"
D: "Okay. Have a nice day!"
Now that's sexism. And probably pregnancy-ism. If it had been me with my three-day beard growth driving the car, you can bet I would have had to produce my license.
And who would answer "Yes" to that last question? I guess a drunk person might. "No, Offisher, I don't have my linshensh." "Ha! Gotcha!"
Anyway, we were glad they didn't give us any grief, but Child with her pregnant stomach, me with me Gatorade and "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" book and our car full of camping gear probably didn't fit the profile they were looking for.