Dont Mince Words

As enticing as the DMV offer was, I knew I couldn’t renew my driver’s license by mail. My picture was a cross between a Nick Nolte mug shot and a Cyndi Lauper album cover. When I moved to California, I wasn’t aware they put weight on your driver’s license, so I didn’t lie. It was time to go in for a personal visit to correct all these errors.

I selected the week before Christmas thinking everyone would be shopping and it would be low volume pain-time at the DMV. I got there and discovered there’s no off season at that place.

Coiffed and slathered with makeup, I was ready for combat. I stood in line to get my number and waited 15 minutes for my number to be called. Window 10 Jesse looked at me funny when he pulled my record.

“You are eligible to renew by mail. Why are you here?” he asked.

“I need a new picture and my weight has changed. I need a license I can live with for a few years,” I explained.

While he did his data entry, I memorized the eye charts above his head. I had an eye exam the week before and was told my distance was fine. But was that an F or a P? Thankfully, I passed the test, so I can continue to drive visually unaided.

I paid $26 and proceeded to window B for my new picture. Lipstick on. Hair fluffed. Clothes straightened. I smiled big.

“Oh wow,” Window B boy exclaimed. “I’m not supposed to show customers their pictures, but take a look at you. This is the best one today.”

I had a Joker grin, shiny cheeks, and a slight double chin. Window B boy asked me if I wanted a do over. I decided no – I’m always going to look like a clown at the DMV portrait studio. I was more proud of possessing a license with my goal weight printed on it. I’ll get there one day, but if the cops ever pull me over, I’m not worried. They’ll recognize the cheeks.

My holiday postcard minimum print run is 500. My card list is 200. Each year I try to find ways to distribute the excess. I’ll hand them out in the office, to the guards, to the postman, and to waiters with the tip.

This year I got a little creative with the extras. I decided to serve my country by mailing these things to the troops in Iraq. I assumed they’d bring great joy IF the boob and leg exposure wasn’t stopped short at the border.

I opted to go with Any Sailor given my ties to the Navy (and because I love saying “Hello Sailor”). These poor guys have pretty decent duty stations compared to the Air Force missile cornfields and Army bases inland. So imagine leaving a cushy port town and being sent to a sandy destination with burqas, not bikinis. That’s gotta really suck.

Today I received my first thank you call from a petty officer stationed in Kuwait. He wanted to let me know my sense of humor was tremendously appreciated. “We get so much mail from 9 year-olds and grandmothers. It’s nice to have a woman write that is intelligent.”

Apparently, I have nice legs too, but that could be the sun blindness talking.

So, no matter what your political affiliation may be, I strongly encourage you to send some kind words to those serving in the war. A little goes a long way during the holiday season.

I laid out my clothes the night before: black v-neck sweater, pedal pushers, and black jeweled mules with kitten heels. I was ready to see Dr. T.

My morning-of ritual consisted of shaving my legs, scrunching my hair so the curls fell across my eyes at just the right angle, and layering the perfume.

When the nurse came in and took my vitals, she commented on how good I smelled. Excellent, send the doctor in – I’m ready for him. Next in was Dr. T’s trainee. He looked at me somewhat fearfully, as if a good smelling redhead had not been around in a while. He reviewed my chart and then looked at me as said, “You are doing really good and you look great. The doctor will be in shortly.”

Dr. T came in with the trainee. He looked different – new glasses and thinning hair. His panty-melting accent was only a consolation prize. I starred at him as Trainee boy ran through the stats.

“You look like you are doing well. Get on additional calcium and zinc supplements and we’ll see you in a few months,” Dr. T said as he walked out.

For this I shaved my legs? I need to find a new McSteamy.