Friday, July 20, 2012

Take A Number

Afternoon Readers,

Those of you watching my every move, probably noticed I was almost completely silent on social media yesterday. So, to that one fan out in Bangladesh, I'm sorry. I hope the camels were at least doing something entertaining. To the rest of you, all I have to say is that I had a date with the DMV, and that pretty much sums it up.

Good night folks.

Tip Your waitress.

Or your camel.

...Well, wait, I guess there a couple things worth mentioning, as it was the longest wait in the history of man. As beautiful and shiny as our new Department of Motor Vehicles is, they got so backed up yesterday that all numbers had been taken by 10am. Which meant I had the pleasure of not being called until 4:30p. Which also meant I was able to observe...

To the girl wearing a bikini: DMV doesn't stand for "Damn, My Very Important Parts Are Hanging Out"

....because they were, and the acronym would require more letters, if that were the case. Also, I don't know if I missed it on the bottom of my letter, but cleavage is not required to renew your tags in Kansas. So say the pioneers of our great state.

(Transcribed from our Big State Manual of Kansas...1902)

"Jebadiah, shall we require the women folk to show cleavage while renewing their car tags?"

"Nay, Samual. Me thinks we'll get the cold shoulder back in the marriage bed if we do."

"All those opposed?"

*silence*

"The ayes have it."

To the man who got tired of waiting: I feel for you. You know who wasn't tired of waiting? The woman who's eight months pregnant who can still feel bits of that plastic chair imbedded in her hiney. She's not tired of waiting because she likes to do things in nine month increments, and sitting in an air conditioned building while her unborn child practices Zumba on her bladder is a nice break from her twins jump kicking her face.

So, go ahead and write you congressman and the mayor. All the pregnant women have your back. Again, it must be so hard learning to wait for the first time in your life.

Next....

To the woman who bought me a diet Mountain Dew because you pressed the wrong button on the machine and you "don't drink diet" but maybe should: Bless you and all who dwell in your home.

To the poor DMV worker who finally processed all my paperwork: Thank you for being kind to me after, what I observed to be, one of the worst work days for people of your kind ever. And even though you laughed when I said I'd do fifty jumping jacks in front of you if it meant getting everything processed, I appreciate you not making me do it.

Because I don't trust this baby, and might have fallen out.

But, in the end, the new car got tagged, taxed, titled and left us just enough in our bank account to enjoy that romantic Ramen dinner for two Husband and I have been planning for simply ages. So, if you'll excuse me, I've got some noodles to whack against the counter top.

Until Next Time, Readers!