Next week I say good-bye to a tooth. It might not seem like a big deal to you, but for me, it’s like the opening page of the end of my life. Besides: I like my tooth. But then I’m partial. (Get it? Partial?) HAHAHA
I’m turning 54 soon. 20,000 days, almost. A lot of those haven’t been half bad. (What does that say about the rest of them?)
Today I went to the DMV. It was okay. ‘Only had to wait through 14 in line. This was my first time with the new security renewal falderal. I hooked up the trailer, and dragged along all the requirements: birth certificate, marriage certificate, utility bill, a check, a firstborn child, and my right arm. (Not really. They didn’t ask for my firstborn.)
Having just gotten rear-ended, I felt sheepish driving up: crunched bumper, bulging fenders, and a bungee holding it all together. (But having it in my driveway didn’t faze me?)
On the application, I lied about my weight. Sadly, one can only fudge so far. (Oh, Snap!) And when they asked about hair color, I almost wrote, “Yes.” My second idea was “two-tone.” (I settled on “Brown.”)
I backed up to the height chart. I asked somebody, “How tall am I—not?” 5’ 1½”. I’ll round down a half for my hair, which—like my fenders—also has bulges.
And today was another first: Eye test. I got a little nervous when there was a hiccup on the periphery part. Then he says, “Please take off your glasses.” My fat face (still more bulges) wasn’t engaged into the doodad.
Speaking of my fat face, they had to shoot my DMV photo twice. At the moment she clicked, somebody texted me—and I jumped. …Duh. My permanent license will probably have an “SB” code. (“Short Bus.”)
Ah, well. Another task completed. I’d procrastinated because of the fine print. ‘Come to find out, all that stuff pertained to aliens. (And that, I’m keeping as my little secret.)