(I tried to insert photos here, but the resort interwebs is too slow for that...when we get back to American soil, I'll edit this post to include photos.)
I remarked to my husband last week that we had just had about the best 5 day stretch in our hometown I’d had in a looong time, possibly ever. We had nothing we had to do. No holiday dinner marathons. No wedding planning appointments. No studying. Nothing. We visiting in a pretty leisurely fashion with our families (including my sister, who’s moving out of town; my Danda, who’s been “sprung” from the nursing home rehab place this week; both sets of parents; my uncle, who lives in town and yet I rarely see; and my cousin (his son), who went to college this week). Anyway, it was awesome. We went to the pool (working on those base tans, you know). We ate all our hometown favorite foods. We went to a baseball game—bought $5 tickets and watched first 7 or so innings in $40 seats and the last few (there were extras) in what I’m guessing were $100+ seats. I relaxed. Finally.
Then I started to pack for our tropical adventures. My lovely husband has already chronicled a bit of the debacle that was my passport situation, so I won’t relive it. I’m happy to report that I did indeed receive a valid US passport and got fairly little guff about the situation from our lovely US State Dept employees, despite needing a passport less than 24 hours before leaving the country for my own danged honeymoon. Special shout-outs in that situation to my aforementioned lovely husband for keeping me sane, MMC for putting me up and helping me navigate Detroit, the Detroit Westin for having such a totally comfortable lobby and not glancing twice at me though I hung out there for the better part of the day, and J.K. Rowling for writing a series of books I can read for hours at a time without totally zoning out or wishing I was dead (though I have often found myself this week thinking “if only I could do a summoning charm and summon my passport!” or “if only I could go back in time and see where past Kate put that passport!” or “if only I could apparate and be in Detroit already!”).
The passport office, by the way, is totally ridiculous. It’s like a very high-security DMV. You can’t call and you can’t drop in, but they have a waiting room set up for about 100 people and the whole time I was there, literally not a single person waiting. Also, they have about 13 windows (like bank-teller windows) and about four people working behind them, all but one seemingly playing solitaire.
As a complete aside, on the 4 hour drive to the Detroit area, I passed a semi which had written in the dirt on the back (you know, like some people will write “WASH ME” in the dirt) “I HONK 4 HOOTERS.” I thought it was pretty absurd, but you know…if you drive long enough, you’ll see some absurd stuff. But then, the driver actually honked at me! I can assure you I did not flash him. In fact, I was wearing a totally gross (crew neck) t-shirt and hunched over like I was, my gut sticks out more than my “hooters.” I had no idea it was possible to be sexually harassed while minding my own business, watching the road from my own car, but there you have it. It’s everywhere.
Anyway, the story of my being a total idiot most unfortunately does not end with the case of the missing passport. Let me back up and say I own two pairs of shorts that are decent to wear in public. I wear said shorts pretty frequently, and probably as a result, the hems had fallen out of them. So I dropped them off at the dry cleaners to be fixed and was supposed to pick them up Friday. Friday, of course, I was getting a passport, so you’ll understand when I say I didn’t get to it. So Saturday morning, my mom drives us to the airport and we stop on the way to pick them up. I pay for them—not too pricey. I’m very pleased with the work; they did a great job. I somehow manage to shove the shorts into my suitcase. We’re off to Cancun!
It’s not until we’re checking in I realize…I’ve shoved the shorts into my suitcase AND NOT MY WALLET. I took the wallet out to pay the dry cleaners and left it in my mom’s car. Yes, seriously. And my mom’s not answering her cell phone.
I mean, it’s not the end of the world. After the passport debacle, the hubs was put in sole custody of my shiny new passport, and he’s got a credit card and whatnot, so it really would have been fine. It’s just…seriously? Am I losing my mind? I really don’t feel quite like myself. I am a pretty together lady, generally. So why all of this? My husband and my mom blame the bar exam, and maybe that’s part of it, but part of me feels like I’ve been suuuper stressed out a lot over the last 6 or so months, and now I’m…not. Or at least shouldn’t be. Shouldn’t that free up lots of brain space to do things like, I don’t know, REMEMBER TO KEEP YOUR FUCKING HEAD ATTACHED TO YOUR STUPID NECK?!
In the end, we checked the bags and then waited to go through security. My mom was able to go all the way home, get the message that the wallet was left behind, find the wallet, and get back to the airport, all with lots of time left over for us to get to our flight.
All of these situations over the last couple of months (I did tell you all the bar exam seat voucher story, right? If not, I will.) have impressed upon me two equally important lessons: (1) I am never, ever to be bitchy to my mother or my sister for being such complete flakes. It’s genetic, and the second I have a snide thought about my mom forgetting her bag or my sister leaving her purse on the Metro, IT WILL KICK MY ASS. They are not kidding when they say karma’s a bitch. (2) I am seriously the luckiest person you have ever met in your danged life. I was able to sit for the bar exam (and arrived on time, no less). I got a passport and am currently headed to Mexico. I bought myself breakfast at the airport, using the credit card I took from my wallet. Also, my husband hasn’t left me yet.
I guess if you have to be stupid, lucky and stupid’s a pretty good combo.
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