When I got married, Wil and I changed our names from Fader to Fader-Van Luyn. This meant that we had to get new government IDs, which included social security cards and driver’s licenses. Filling out the forms to get the IDs wasn’t too bad, thanks to to an awesome site that my friend Leah recommended, MissNowMrs.com. We were both able to use this site to get our new IDs!
Wil, the kids, and I spent four hours at the DMV one day waiting to get our new licenses. The day is a kind of blur now, but I distinctly remember tilting my head to the side, when the angry DMV lady took my picture, so she could get my good angle. Unfortunately, when my ID came in the mail, my picture looked like this:
If you’ve ever seen the movie Spaceballs, I resembled the character Pizza The Hut.
I decided that when my face healed from the MRSA infection, I would head on back to the DMV to ask for a new license picture. And that’s just what I did, with Samara in tow. She really enjoyed the DMV, I think she was the only one there who was having fun.
When my number was up, I believe it was A34, I approached the woman at the window.
“Just a picture change?” She asked
“Yep.” I replied. “How much is that, by the way, $10?”
“17.” She replied through clenched teeth.
I knew she wanted to get down to business, so I stepped in front of the white drape thing that reminded me of “picture day” from elementary school.
The first picture she took made me look about 4000 lbs. So I asked her if I could take another one.
“Miss, you can’t be doing this all day.” Mind you, I only asked her to retake it once.
“I’m not like that. I was just in the hospital and had surgery on my face.” I said rather curtly.
“Oh okay.” She replied, obviously curious as to what I meant by that.
She took one more shot, and then she asked:
“What kinda surgery you have?”
“I had a MRSA infection on my face.” I said icily.
“Ain’t that the one that eats your skin?” She asked scrunching her face up.
“Yeah,” I replied, not exactly sure what she meant by that, but I went with it.
I left the window and waited for another 3o minutes, until my number, F23, was called.
“Just a picture change?”
“So, you’re turning in your old license, right?”
I handed the woman my old license. I opened my purse to go for my wallet.
“Really?” I said in disbelief
“Yeah, you don’t want the old license, right? Some people like to save them.”
“No, no! I don’t want it.” I said, thinking about my giant zit.
Ten days later I got a lovely surprise in the mail, it was my new license with a much better picture: