As Harry and I walked toward the back of the chubby gal clothing store a young, beautiful child with gorgeous blond hair and enormous blue eyes started climbing up his father and whining "Is mamma a big butt? Is mamma a big butt? I wanna see mamma's big butt!" Without daring to meet Harry's eyes I dove, headfirst, into a rack of over-bedazzled tank tops and guffawed until my face returned to a normal shade of pink.
We have spent the day running errands as one is oft to do when presented with an extra day off work. We started by going to the bank and then ran to the DMV to quickly snap my picture for my brand new "25+5" license.
And then time stopped.
For the DMV is a great equalizer. It makes no matter of your age, ethnicity, gender or even how much cash you have in overseas markets. No, at the DMV you are a number, a problem, a person who must surely have the wrong form or a person who filled out the form clutched in your sweaty hand quite incorrectly. So as we entered into the area that Time Forgot I was given a number. A magic number that would tell me when to go to the numbered windows at the far end of the sad, tiny and dingy room.
Thirty minutes later and my nose has reddened from it starting to run and my hair, once curled, flipped and pouffed, had taken on the texture of old fettuccine noodles. Finally, my number was illuminated on the large red screen hanging from the ceiling and, not looking first for small children that had passed out from sheer boredom, I ran to window #7 and happily shoved all of my forms at the man behind the plastic safety glass.
He smiled, looked over my paperwork and then shoved it back toward me.
"Sorry, but I can't help you today," he said.
A small piece of me broke off, shriveled up and died on the grimy blue carpet.
"What?! Why?! What did I do?" I semi-shrieked at him.
"You forgot to answer all the questions on the Renewal Form," he grinned, clearly enjoying my panic-stricken face.
"You're kidding! I looked over that darn thing four times already! How'd I miss that?!"
He chuckled and then spent an extra ten minutes telling Harry and I about how he still drives his big Dodge Ram Diesel truck, gas prices be damned.
"Wanna change anything on here?" he asked me, referring to my height, weight and hair color.
I thought about it and since I filled out the information about four hair colors ago and more than a few pounds ago I decided to do what was right: "Nah - you can leave it all just like it is!"
So, as I sit here tonight and type on my Mac that hates me with a fiery passion that only a virtually inanimate object could, I realize that life is pretty darn good sometimes. I mean, if you can find humor at the DMV and life at a chubby gal department store - what's not to live for?
Oh - and cake. Gotta have cake.