Kaitlynn Watts v. Nicole Ann Lovette

Let’s be real: how hard is it to stop at a red light? Like, how hard? Apparently, for Nicole Ann Lovette, it was impossible—at least on December 8, 2024, at 5:43 p.m., when she allegedly blew through an intersection in Shawnee, Oklahoma, like she was starring in a low-budget action flick titled Jeep vs. Justice. Instead of a movie deal, she’s now staring down a $75,000 lawsuit from three women who were just trying to get wherever they were going—alive.

So, who are these people? On one side, we’ve got Kaitlynn Watts, the driver of a 2001 Jeep Cherokee that looks like it survived the Y2K scare and kept rolling. She wasn’t alone—riding shotgun was Marina N. Harris, and in the back, probably buckled in with the kind of booster seat that still has cartoon dinosaurs on it, was Kalina Stockton, a minor. Watts is also acting as Kalina’s “next friend,” which in legalese means she’s the responsible adult bringing the lawsuit on behalf of the kid. On the other side? Nicole Ann Lovette, fellow Shawnee resident, driver of a much newer 2020 Jeep Compass—because apparently, in this town, if you’re not driving a Jeep, are you even trying? The two Jeeps, separated by nearly two decades and a few thousand dollars in depreciation, were on a collision course that only a traffic light—and common sense—could’ve stopped.

And here’s how it went down, according to the petition filed exactly one year to the minute after the crash (give or take a few seconds—this is Oklahoma, not NASA). Kaitlynn Watts was heading north on Kickapoo Street, minding her business, obeying traffic laws like a good citizen, when she approached the intersection with Commercial Drive. Green light. Go time. Meanwhile, Nicole Lovette was barreling east on Commercial Drive—also approaching the intersection, but with a red light glaring in her face like the universe’s final warning. Did she stop? Nope. Did she slow down? Not according to the plaintiffs. Instead, Lovette allegedly plowed into Watts’ Jeep with enough force to send three people to the doctor, if not the ER. The impact? Entirely avoidable. The cause? A textbook case of “I guess I didn’t see it” or “I thought I could make it”—the two most expensive thoughts in traffic law.

Now, let’s talk about why they’re in court. The plaintiffs aren’t just mad—they’re lawyered up, and they’re making seven distinct negligence claims. That’s not overkill; that’s passion. They’re saying Lovette failed to keep a proper lookout (meaning she was probably texting, adjusting the radio, or contemplating the meaning of life), failed to obey the red light (a big no-no), failed to yield the right-of-way (which Watts clearly had), failed to control her vehicle (a fancy way of saying “she wasn’t driving like a human who wants to live”), failed to stop in time (shocking, given she didn’t stop at all), failed to follow traffic laws (a broad but accurate indictment), and failed to use ordinary care (the legal version of “dude, what were you thinking?”). And if that laundry list wasn’t enough, they’re throwing in negligence per se—a legal power move that means, “You broke the law, the law exists to prevent exactly this kind of crash, and therefore, you’re automatically negligent.” They even cite the specific Oklahoma statutes: one says you gotta stop at red lights, another says you can’t speed like a maniac in bad conditions, and the whole package basically reads like the DMV handbook. In other words, Lovette didn’t just mess up—she failed Driver’s Ed 101.

So what do they want? A cool $75,000—per plaintiff. Wait, no. The petition asks for “actual damages in excess of $75,000.00 for each Plaintiff,” which would be $225,000 total. But the filing says “total_demand: 75000.0,” which suggests either a typo, a compromise, or someone really bad at math. Let’s assume the plaintiffs are aiming for $75,000 total, split however the court sees fit. Is that a lot? For a fender-bender, maybe not. But this wasn’t a fender-bender. We’re talking about “severe and painful personal injuries” for all three—physical pain, mental anguish, medical bills, lost wages, and the ever-popular “loss of enjoyment of life,” which is legalese for “I used to like going to the park, and now I can’t because my back hurts and I’m traumatized by the sound of turning engines.” Also, Watts’ 2001 Jeep—already a relic—probably didn’t walk away unscathed. That thing was held together by duct tape and nostalgia before the crash. Now? It’s scrap metal with sentimental value.

And then there’s little Kalina. A child. A minor. Someone who, at the time of the crash, was just along for the ride, probably snacking on fruit snacks or arguing about the music. Now she’s got “future medical expenses” and “future mental pain and suffering” listed in a court document. That’s… kind of heartbreaking. And legally, it’s a big deal—courts tend to look extra hard at cases involving kids, especially when their injuries could affect them for decades. So while $75,000 might sound like a modest ask in the world of personal injury (some back injury cases go for millions), in rural Oklahoma, for a crash involving older vehicles and non-catastrophic injuries, it’s a serious sum. It’s not “I’m buying a house” money—it’s “I’m paying off medical debt and therapy bills” money. And given that Lovette was allegedly the one who ignored the most basic rule of driving, the plaintiffs aren’t exactly asking for sympathy. They’re asking for accountability.

Now, our take? Look, car crashes happen. We get it. Roads are chaos. But this one feels especially avoidable. The facts, as presented, paint a picture of a preventable disaster caused by a failure to do one simple thing: stop. No bad weather mentioned. No mechanical failure. No sudden medical emergency. Just a red light and a driver who, for whatever reason, decided it didn’t apply to her. And now three people—two adults and a child—are dealing with pain, medical visits, and emotional fallout. The most absurd part? That we even need to spell this out in a courtroom. This isn’t a “he said, she said” about who had the light. The plaintiffs are claiming Watts had a green. Lovette had a red. One of them followed the rules. The other didn’t. And yet, here we are, in Pottawatomie County District Court, where Greg S. Wilson—the plaintiffs’ attorney, who works five blocks from the alleged crash site—is asking a judge to confirm what every kindergarten teacher already knows: red means stop.

Are we rooting for the plaintiffs? Yeah, kind of. Not because we love lawsuits, but because this feels like a case where the legal system might actually do its job—hold someone accountable for a dumb, dangerous choice. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll remind the rest of us to look up from our phones when we’re behind the wheel. Because next time, the Jeep in the other lane might have a kid in it. And no amount of “I thought I could make it” excuses will fix that.

(We’re entertainers, not lawyers. But also: please stop running red lights. It’s not that hard.)