What could be handier than a machine that seals papers permanently in plastic for all eternity?My love of gadgets took over my body, and I purchased a sheet heat laminator for preschool purposes, pictures and such.The first couple of weeks I laminated everything in sight.In July, the new car insurance papers came, and I decided that a laminated proof of insurance card would be just what every vehicle that we owned needed.Practically a master laminator by this time, I inserted the first paper in the plastic film flappy-thing and started it through the machine. I somehow got distracted, something got stuck and the result was my Bonneville paper incased in plastic with perfect stiff quarter inch accordion pleats.I, being who I am, found this quite hilarious. It was still readable if you stretched it out. "Besides," I giggled to my husband, "What officer could give a ticket to a person with a sense of humor so acute as to have an accidentally accordion-pleated, laminated proof of insurance?" Sometimes men have trouble seeing the funny side of things. But, alas, the new proofs came in January and so I figured the uproarious pleated verification would retire to the burn barrel never to make me laugh again. However….A while ago, I went to see my talented husband perform with the River Valley Players in Rock Rapids. Afterward we headed home, Doug in his truck and me in my trustworthy Bonneville. Doug had a bit of a head start and took the turn toward Luverne. Since everything is a race to me, my competitive nature kicked in and I decided to try to beat him home by taking Iowa 9 through Larchwood and on to the farm. Oops. Bad idea.I soon had the chance to meet a Lyon County Deputy. I, in my South Dakota raised and conditioned mind, assumed that a nice highway such as Iowa 9 would have a speed limit of at least 65, but I was mistaken. In all honesty, I didn’t give the speed limit much thought, for I was on a quest for winning the coveted ‘I beat you home’ prize, which really only exists in my mind.I have great respect for the law officer profession. It is what I wanted to be when I was young. Next to being a farmer and raising food for the people, what nobler job could there be than to protect and serve?Flashing trooper lights … pull over on the shoulder … spotlight … and soon an official with a flashlight walked toward me. I kept my hands in plain sight out of tribute for every cop show I’ve ever seen on television. Driver’s license, please. (sure thing) Where you headed? (trying to beat my husband home) Where you been? (My husband is in the play at the high school in Rocky) You were going a bit fast. (oh, was I? I suppose I was) Registration and proof of insurance, please. (no problem)Then I opened up the glove box, and what greeted my hand but the registration and the expired accordion insurance paper. Seems the new proof never found its way from the desk to the garage. It was then that mild panic set in. Not a rule breaker by nature, I was now faced with not only mild speeding but a true and blatant law broken because of my pure laziness of not picking up a piece of paper and taking it out to my car. How much of my precious time could that have taken? I was sure it was a lot shorter than the jail sentence was going to be. This was IOWA! Bits and pieces of stories I have heard about their strictness of the law jumped into my mind like Mexican jumping beans on a hot sidewalk. I was doomed to life in a black-and-white-striped suit behind bars. Thank goodness, I wear my seatbelt or it would be the death penalty for sure. I was already missing my family and daycare kids.I handed over the registration. (Proof of insurance?) I then commenced babbling extensively about how I really had current proof but that it had not found its way to the car (like it was the paper’s fault) but here was the expired one… and I handed over the perfectly pleated, enduringly laminated document. The look on the officer’s face was one of annoyed amusement. "Laminating accident", I meekly offered. Lengthy dialogue followed. I watched as he struggled to stretch it out enough to read it with one hand while the other held the flashlight. I guess he figured it was futile to fight with it there and headed back to his car. I was then engulfed in nervous amusement, and I roared at the entire situation. My giggles finally subsided and what seemed like an eternity later he returned with the paperwork and a ticket for speeding. (I guess babbling does not warrant a fine.) I was then overtaken with good manners and I apologized for the inconvenience, thanked him for the ticket and was on my way home.I had seen a fine show, lost a non-existent race, gibbered like an idiot to a deputy, nearly wet my pants in a fit of laughter, and thanked an officer for giving me a fine and not the electric chair… all in less than three hours time. The day had been less than great and so, slowly and within the limits of the law, I closed the gate.Story ideas or comments can be e-mailed to Nancy at Nancy861@msn.com or please call me at 962-3411.