Nancy Drew reporting for duty

[First of all, today was a blast. Once I wrapped my head around the fact that this was really just a series of conversations with people who might be able to use the information I had to give (and once I realized that most of the staffers on the hill are slightly older than my eldest daughter), I was okay.  Excited, in fact.

I met with Senator rhymes-with-Frown and his staffer, the child and family issues legislative staffer for Senator rhymes-with-Harry, and Congresswoman rhymes-with-Songbus and her staffer. A full day, great conversations and possibilities for more, and I made it through without hyperventilating.  I almost fell down the marble stairs of the Russell Senate Office Building once, though. I'm so classy.]

. . .

At one point, I was sitting on the grounds of the Capitol between appointments, contemplating collecting leaves for Maddy's 50-leaf science project (that dreaded, infamous freshman science rite of passage), when I heard a big crash. Some guy in a white SUV had backed into a red porsche.  The sound of the crunch made it obvious that there was damage. The guy looked in his rearview, glanced around, and put the car in drive & left. I was appalled! He pulled past the guard booth at the edge of the Capitol grounds and stopped at the red light.

Suddenly all of my Nancy Drew indoctrination kicked in. I pulled out my phone and noted his license and dashed over to the guard booth. "Sir!" I yelled, galumphing across the grass gracelessly. (Isn't it awesome how sophisticated I can be?) "Stop that car! He just backed into that Porsche and left!" The police guy ran over and waved the hit-and-runner back. And then I called Ned to go meet for a milkshake. And then I remembered I wasn't Nancy Drew.

Every time I passed the lot for the rest of the afternoon, there were a swarm of police and the poor guy was in big trouble. 

I felt like such a tattletale. 

. . .

Which leads me to relate the following bad memory (cue backflash music): 2nd grade, ancient Mrs. Olson's class. Someone broke the rules on the playground and I was very concerned for the (a) fairness and (b) safety of the situation. I went directly to Mrs. Olson and reported the crime.  

Much to my dismay, Mrs. Olson did not appreciate my vigilance. She seemed not to even care about the rules. Not only did she not thank me for my whistleblowing, she required me to WEAR A TATTLE TAIL for the rest of the day.  As in: a paper tail, pinned to my behind, all day long. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Oh, the shame.

I can't help it. I'm an oldest child and we believe in following the rules. If that means reporting infractions now and then, so be it.

Nancy Drew do-gooder, tattletale. Such a fine line. 

. . .

Listen:  Stay Don't Go  ~ Spoon