DMV

So, there was a birthday recently. My birthday. And this birthday I needed to renew my driver’s license. Since I went into the office, I had to get a new photo. If I'd renewed online, no new photo. Hindsight. 

 

The camera hates me, and this is no exaggeration. Clients will want photos with me. I tell them I don't do pictures. They insist until the whole situation is downright awkward. I usually don't give an inch. One time I allowed a photo just to shut the ladies up so I could get on with my day. One chick takes the photo, looks at it, frowns, and in a very disappointed tone whispers, "Ohhh." 

 

I TRIED to tell her. Good ol' shot to the self-esteem.

 

One time my daughter wanted to get a shot or two of us together. After many tries, she informs me I look as if I don't want to being doing this, taking pictures. What was your first clue, daughter? She tells me it took nineteen photos to get one good shot of us together. Right? And it wasn't great. I loathe photo shoots. 

 

I'm at the DMV. (I almost typed DVM. Freudian slip maybe? Neighhhh. Rear-end of a dog? Rufff.) 

 

DMV cameras were created by the devil. Convince me otherwise. 

 

The DMV employee and I are chatting it up, talking about our latest, heavy overnight snowfall. Paperwork complete, now it's time for the photo. I like to think I was prepared. Big Texas hair in place, makeup applied, clothing nice and tidy. She snaps the pic and asks me to approve it. 

 

"DEAR GERTIE, that is terrible!" 

 

"Yours is a lot better than many I see." 

 

"You're kidding?! Let's try again."

 

We try again. Same thing. What the heck? I don't even recognize me. She tells me we can take three before we stop. We take the third. It's worse than the first two. It's like a really bad mug shot, one eye half closed. Oh my gosh. 

 

Overnight I'm another year older and now this. Most days my age doesn't bother me. As a matter of fact, I'm proud of me and my tenacity, all I've accomplished. I feel wonderful. Until this.

 

I gather my self-esteem up off the floor and head to the powder room. The nice DMV associate is also taking a powder room break. I look in the mirror, look back at her. 

 

"That photo doesn't even look like me." 

 

"No, it doesn't."

 

Thank you, Jesus.

 

Oh well. Off to work. As I'm leaving another customer stops me, "I just love your accent, especially first thing in the morning!"

 

She was serious. 

 

She overheard everything, DMV and I laughing like crazy women, me exclaiming DEAR GERTIE repeatedly, me gathering my crushed spirit and belongings and heading to the powder room to take a very critical look in the mirror. 

 

I'm not a Swiftie, but this is a prime example of Shake It Off. The good news: If ever bad guys are searching for me, and use my DMV photo, they will never find me. 

 

This makes me smile.