For fifteen years, Wendy Auger never expected that the playful reminder she’d bolted to the back of her car would spark a battle with her own state. To her, “PB4WEGO” was nothing more than a cheerful nudge that made people laugh at stoplights. When New Hampshire suddenly declared it “offensive,” it felt as if a private joke had been dragged into a fight she never asked for.
The plate wasn’t simply a quirky decoration; it was woven into her family’s everyday life. Kids giggled when they read it, parents shared knowing grins, and even strangers often rolled down their windows just to say it made their day. For Wendy, that reaction mattered. The humor captured a universal parenting moment, and losing it felt strangely personal.
So when the DMV insisted the message crossed a line, Wendy felt more than annoyance—she felt dismissed. The idea that a harmless bathroom-break reminder could be interpreted as inappropriate bewildered her. She felt as though the state had mistaken her warmth for vulgarity, and that sting pushed her to speak up.
What troubled her even more was how quickly officials hid behind outdated rules and stiff policies, acting as though there was no room for common sense. If something so benign could be labeled offensive, she wondered what other everyday expressions might be next. The loss of a plate became a symbol of something larger slipping away.
Wendy’s resistance wasn’t loud or dramatic; it was a simple insistence that free expression doesn’t stop the moment a citizen interacts with bureaucracy. She wanted the state to see that personality and humor are part of public life, too.
In the end, the fight over seven playful characters grew into a reminder that even small freedoms matter. Wendy’s pushback showed how easily personal expression can be threatened—and how important it is to defend it.