I had to renew my driver’s license last week. Actually, it’s my “driver license” if you want to get technical, which to me sounds awkward and looks silly, but then again, so does a pink license.
Seriously. I was tempted to ask the lady at the counter if the ink was running out in her printer but then Luke got his new license and it’s pink, too. (A pink commercial driver’s license, hee!)
You’ll notice that I went for the mildly irritated look, which should be a pretty accurate representation of how I’ll look if I’m ever in a situation where someone asks to see my license. I blurred out some of the personal info so you can’t, you know, stalk me, or whatever. Luckily I didn’t have to blur our the weight because they stopped putting it on the licenses. I lied anyway, but still.
The one glaring, terrible, oh-my-goodness-I-am-getting-old thing that you may or may not notice is that the next time I’ll have to renew my license is in 2016, which also happens to be the year I TURN FORTY. Forty. That just doesn’t seem possible.
Thanks a lot DMV. First you make me feel like cattle, you force me to wait in unending lines, you take my picture under unflattering light, you make me pay $66 for the fun, AND THEN you remind me that I’m on the down side of 30, heading straight for forty. Thanks a lot, indeed!