Wendy Auger never imagined that a simple sequence of letters on her car would become the center of a statewide discussion — yet that’s exactly what happened.
For fifteen years, Wendy proudly drove around New Hampshire with a personalized license plate that read “PB4WEGO.” To her family, the plate was more than just a quirky set of characters — it was a lighthearted insider joke, a phrase many parents know all too well when loading up kids for errands or long road trips: “Potty before we go.” Strangers smiled when they saw it, children giggled, and it became a small, shared moment of humor among drivers on the highway.
Over time, the plate became part of Wendy’s identity behind the wheel. Neighbors recognized it. Friends took photos of it. It wasn't offensive; it was just everyday family humor, familiar to anyone who has ever corralled restless kids into the car.
So when Wendy received a letter from the New Hampshire Department of Motor Vehicles informing her that the plate now violated state guidelines and “would no longer be permitted,” she was taken completely by surprise.
The decision left her confused and disappointed. After all, the plate had been on the road for more than a decade with no complaints or issues. If it was ever questionable, why had it been fine for fifteen years? For Wendy, the message had never been intended to shock, offend, or provoke — just to amuse.
To her, it was a harmless expression of everyday life with children, not a coded phrase with an inappropriate meaning. Losing the plate felt strangely personal, almost like losing a small piece of her own story.
As news of the DMV’s decision spread, what might have remained a private frustration quickly became a topic of public conversation. Support poured in from community members who argued that the plate had always been understood in a playful, family-friendly way. Many pointed out that the DMV’s reversal raised questions about how standards are applied — especially when something approved for so many years suddenly becomes objectionable without clear explanation.
People said that consistent, transparent guidelines matter, especially for drivers who follow the rules and assume that once a plate is approved, it’s good to go. They worried that shifting interpretations could lead to confusion or unfair scrutiny.
Though the final say ultimately rested with state officials, Wendy’s story highlighted something bigger than a license plate dispute. It became part of a broader conversation about personal expression, public interpretation, and where the line is drawn when private humor meets government regulation.
Her experience served as a reminder that even small symbols on the road can carry meaning — and that changes to familiar routines, no matter how trivial they may seem to others, can stir strong reactions when they touch something meaningful in people’s everyday lives.