millie noe license The last time I renewed my driver’s license they said it would be good for eight years. I remember thinking, "Maybe eight years will never come."  Not because I didn’t think I would live for eight years, because eight years is a long time. I got a letter from the DMV.  They seem to think that eight years is already up.  I know.  I couldn't believe it either. But get this, the letter says that I can now get a REAL ID instead, for the same low price as a regular driver license.  I thought my driver’s license was a real ID.  I guess it's a real driver's license, but it's not a REAL ID.  A REAL ID has three mug shots plastered on  it.  According to the document if I decide to go for a REAL ID, I will need to bring all kinds of information along, birth certificate, social security card, marriage license, divorce papers,  second marriage license and tons of family history, including any affairs and all four legged pets, going back to the 1800’s. It sounds like a royal pain.  But it also says that once acquired you can get on a plane.  Yeah, I know, I was under the impression that I could get on a plane already. It’s kinda like having a passport but it's only good in the states. I don’t think it’s an automatic pass to first class or anything like that, but I believe that with it you can order a drink, if you can flag down a stewardess and you won't get carded, well, I won't get carded. But you see, I have an aversion to renewing my driver’s license.  I have an aversion to most anything that requires official documents, parallel parking, standing in line over my lunch hour, eye tests, tests of any kind, rubber stampers and the letters DMV, in any order. Remember that first day of school when you were sitting in a not yet trashed desk, admiring your brand, spanking, white, tennis shoes and your new teacher was up there giving an overview of the year ahead?  Then she ruined the moment by telling the class right off the bat that in the third quarter everyone would be required to give a thirty minute oral report, on some part of the human anatomy.  "So start researching now," she said. "This will be  one half of your grade."  Well, if that didn't wreck my mood, nothing could have.  I spent months worrying about the presentation.  Every night in bed  after finishing my prayers and asking the good lord to bless all the people I knew, name after name, after name and then adding, just in case I'd missed someone, “PLEASE JUST BLESS EVERBODY,"  my thoughts would drift to the dreaded report and a pall would come over me.  But then I would think, “It's not until February.  February is a long ways away. Maybe February will never come."   February did come.  So did eight years. The last time I went to renew my license and took the eye test I couldn’t see anything out of my left eye.  It was a complete blank white screen, no letters, no stop signs , no nothing.  The lady kept saying, “Press your forehead harder into the machine, ma'am.” Then she would readjust it. "Try it again."  The line behind me was silently groaning and rustling their papers.  I could feel glaring eyes.  I tried it with my right eye, “Good.”  Then I tried both eyes, “Good.”  Then I tried my left eye and again, I saw nothing but a blank white screen.  “Well, I don’t know what is wrong with this damn thing,” she said, smacking it. I wasn’t about to admit that I am super near sighted in my left eye and super far sighted in my right eye, but if I use the two together, which is what I do,  I am 20/20.  Finally the woman gave up and she stamped my papers.  Then she pointed me to the photo area. What I didn’t know that day was that the guy was about to take a picture that I would be pulling out of my wallet for eight years that I would actually like.  "Go ahead, stop me," I would think passing a cop, "You gotta see this picture." I know.  Nobody likes their driver license picture. But I do.  It 's almost a glamour shot license.  You know how sometimes Meryl Streep is pretty and sometimes she is not?  It looks like I am having a top notch Meryl Streep kind of a day. Today as I look at it, I’m thinking, “There is no way that any one of the three pictures on my REAL ID will make me look like this.  For starters I’m eight years older now and those eight years are all on the wrong side of the hill. And then what about the description part?  What about the hair color question?  If this is going to be a REAL ID as apposed to a fake one, do I need to be honest and say my hair color is L’Oreal Number 5 ½ A, medium copper brown  with caramel highlights? Weight.  If I give my real weight, and that’s never going to happen, what will the consequences be when I try to board a plane in 2020?  A person could gain a lot of weight in that much time, especially at this age and I've never been this age before so I'm not sure how to gauge it.  There should be some sort of a window of weight.  I weigh significantly less after a giant dump in the morning then I do the night before.  I can't renew my REAL ID every time I have a bowel movement. What if in six years I weigh thirty more pounds than my REAL ID reads, which was already a lie to begin with and I’ve decided to go with L'Oreal number 6, Light Golden Brown and highlight it with brioche?  Or Red Madness with a splash of pink? What if I become allergic to my hair color and I have to switch to another brand entirely? Will I be thrown in the slammer for carrying false identification? And as long as I’m asking questions, what do bald guys write?  Do they just pencil in, bald?  And what if they start up with the Rogaine?    

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