The ramifications of a traffic violation

Last night M. forgot to turn on the headlights of our car as we were driving to the supermarket, so we got a ticket. When we looked around to give the policeman the insurance card for the car, we realised we didn't have it in the glove compartment as we had thought all along. The policeman was surprisingly apologetic to us.
"I know you think I'm not helping you out sir, by giving you this ticket, but really, I am," he said, even though both of us had been sitting quietly in the car (M. probably wondering how on earth he forgot to turn on the headlights, me wondering how much do tickets in the States cost and where did we put the insurance card?) without any remonstration. "By law I could have your car impounded right now since you can't show me your car is insured."

I had read in the newspaper that morning a word which I always struggled with (when would I ever have used it?), and had vowed to (yet never managed to get around to) find out the etymological roots of the word: gubernatorial. I had been silently muttering it under my breath the whole day - it had been a refreshingly quiet work day - gubernatorial, gubernatorial, gubernatorial, until it had become gubnatorial, gubtorial, gubtornarial, gubtarnorial. The words all silently sat on my chest for the rest of the day, like ducks waiting for the sound of the hunter's gunshot to spread their wings. I didn't remember to find out the origins of the adjective.

M. worked out his wrath on getting the ticket by shuffling through the flat in some idiosyncratic order for the rest of the evening, trying but eventually failing to find the insurance card. We both went to bed early, discouraged.

'That's what it is, that's it!'
I grudgingly woke up in the middle of the night because of the pressing need to go to the toilet but, even as I stumbled out of the bedroom with my eyes half closed, my foggy head told me that I had had a moment of eureka. As I peed, I remembered my fantastic answer to the problem.
"We lost the insurance card because we have to spell gubnatorial," I said to M. as I climbed back into the bed.
"Gubernatorial," he said. In that instant, the sham logic of my dream was shattered.
"Yes, gubernatorial," I said, now fully awake and embarrassed at what I had blurted out moments before.
"Right," M. said. He laughed.
"I think I'll go back to sleep now," I said.