NEXT!

I became a homeowner in February and the joy of homeownership has yet to cease. A new roof, new hardwood flooring, downed wires, painting the porch, and the latest - a broken heater - continue to keep me entertained and thankful that half of my pay check goes to Wells Fargo. Oops, a little too early for cynicism? Sincere apologies.

Even though I had a change of address that needed to be processed and my license expired on my birthday, I procrastinated getting a new driver's license until last evening. Ah, the DMV. It's a toss-up between whether I love the DMV or the dentist more. So in the pouring rain and amid disastrous hunger pains, my sister, my dear friend Sam, and I made the trek past the strip clubs and industrial headquarters of the First State and waited for a mere 15 minutes until our numbers were called. Kudos to Silent Observer for commending the DMV on their newfound efficency.

All of my information was accepted without a hitch and the woman asked me to wait in line for a new photo. Although I resembled a drowned rat, I looked into the camera and gave the man a winning smile.

"Oooh," the photographer says.
"What?" I ask.
"Come look at this. Do you like it?" he huffs.

I admit, I was not 100% pleased with the photo, but I thought it was acceptable as drivers license pictures go.

"Yeah, it's fine," I say.
"I don't think so. Let's take it again," he insists.

Imagine my shock and awe at this role reversal. Usually the driver is the one complaining to the photog about their mug, but instead, it was the photog telling me I was heinous. The picture is bad. I look like I am in serious need of a tan. But I don't do that anymore.

I need a can of soda. That's right, I said a can.