It was a Friday in the late 1980s as I recall. I was making my usual rounds, collecting things that wouldn't be missed.

I looked to the left, then to the right; quickly loading my bag. The only witness was a cute little dog with eyes resembling chocolate drops. He sat looking at me curiously, his head halfway cocked.

I went for the big ticket items, realizing I had only a few minutes.

Valuables were strewn about, including signed Nolan Ryan and Bo Jackson baseball cards. "Have they no pride?" I said in reverence.

I could hold these for a while and score big money in the days ahead, I thought.

Unbeknownst to me, I was being surveilled. My quiet surroundings changed in an instant when three policemen swarmed me; calling for backup.

"Stop right there, ma'am, and let me see your hands."

"But, officer, I was going to return all of this."

The cops didn't buy it. Especially the trainee, obviously fresh from the academy.

"Cuff her," said the tallest one as he flashed his badge.

With icy-blue eyes, the assisting officer finally secured the tight-fitting handcuffs; sitting me in a chair.

"What is the charge here?" I demanded.

"Um . . . breaking and entering?"

"I didn't break into anything--this is my house. Try again," I said. "This time, don't forget to charge me first, then, read my rights."

The trainee finally spoke up. "The sign on our bedroom door said, 'No girls allowed.' Didn't you see it, Mommy?"

"Mommy is tall. The sign was posted knee-high," I said, suppressing a laugh.

"Oops! We'll need to fix the sign," said the oldest and most authoritative of the bunch. "Now, sit quietly in your time-out chair while we read ya some important things."

The second-in-command began his speech. "You--have--the . . . ." He stopped mid-sentence; scratching his head. "Mommy, what's this word right here?" He climbed into my lap, forgetting I was a hardened criminal.

"Right. You have the right to remain silent," I replied, pointing to his cheat sheet with closely-knit fingers.

My wrists had begun to throb, so I asked the kind officers to un-cuff me. The plastic key, however, had disappeared in all the hubbub.

"Mommy is hurting and we'll need to find the key. My wrists are turning from red to blue," I said.

The senior officer patted his pockets and remembered to check his subordinates, as well. "I know I saw the key somewhere . . . ."

Panic and blame ensued as the search for the key continued. In the meantime, the trainee announced a potty break, pulling me by the arm.

When I stood up, there on my seat was the key.

With the help of my repentant captors, we worked furiously to remove the toy handcuffs. Half an hour later, we dined on cheddar cheese goldfish crackers to celebrate my freedom; my wrists resting on ice packs.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, love."

"Can we watch 'CHIPS' today? Ponch and Jon are so cool."

"Of course. But--no motorcycles for you boys just yet," I said.