Let me set the scene. 

I'm sitting behind the wheel of my Blue four-door Ford F150, driving down the highway with the window down, feeling the cool breeze. My companions are my best friend, Natasha, and her brother, Newt, who also happens to be my son-in-law. 

Where are we going? 

To the much-anticipated event of: 

EXTREME DWARFANATORS WRESTLING

Natasha ordered the tickets well in advance, wanting to give her brother an awesome birthday present. A few days later, she revisits her purchase and sees she bought three tickets instead of two. 

Someone in the universe loves me. Who wouldn't want to go? And for free! I was ecstatic when I got the invitation. 

Because life just likes to be a Bitch Nat's car broke. 

After some cursing, it was decided that I would drive. 

You should know that everyone except my parents thinks I am a sketchy driver. You drive one tractor up a tree, back into a white van in front of a white building, and almost plow down the men's motorcycles with a sizeable plow-type device, and you get a reputation. 

But desperate times call for desperate actions. So yes, I ended up the chauffeur. Living near a highway has influenced my driving. I often find myself going over the 70-mile-hour speed limit. I don't try to do it; it just happens. 

On this day, that would play a role. 

Something else that needs to be brought to your attention is that my son-in-law and BF's family are no strangers to creating chaos and whooping ass. Understand they always seem to know where the law is. And that is a good thing because, as my brother told me growing up, "It is only illegal if you get caught."

So what went wrong this fated evening? I may never know?

The atmosphere inside the Ford was energetic and lively. Three individuals chatting and laughing, excited about the upcoming affair. 

I noticed the car in front of me pull off to the side of the road. Looking in my rearview, I saw flashing lights, so I pulled off to wait for them to pass. To my dismay, they pulled off and parked right behind me. 

Now regularly, I would have been freaking out. However, when the officer approached, I was engrossed in laughter, as were my companions. 

OFFICER: Do you know how fast you were going?

ME: Umm, no. We were just talking and laughing. 

OFFICER: It must have been a heck of a conversation.

ME: It was. We're on our way to dwarf wrestling.

OFFICER: Okay.

He took my documents to his squad car while we tried to piece together where he had been. When he returned, he handed me a $200 speeding ticket. I was going 82 in a 55. What can I say? The turtle tattooed on my right foot likes to go fast. It didn't help that he followed us for 6.2 miles before we noticed he was there. Honestly, if the car in front of me had not pulled over, we may have made the news.

 Instead, I paid my $200 fine, smiling because I had an AWESOME time. You can't beat sitting ringside. Close enough to smell the sweat of the masked men battling for victory right before your very eyes. The overwhelming power of the crowd as you cheer, chant, and boo. 

As a bonus, we got to take a picture with them. We could have picked one of the men up if we had more money—well, Newt could have. I would have been too afraid to drop someone, as I can't afford a lawsuit, but we will be better prepared for next time. 

Bucket list: Highway chase on the way to dwarf wrestling - Check