Something terrible happened to me: I had to get my picture
taken. Oh, OK, so maybe it’s not the riveting heinous kind of
terrible that you see on the evening news and trashy talk shows,
but still disturbing none-the-less.
Something terrible happened to me: I had to get my picture taken. Oh, OK, so maybe it’s not the riveting heinous kind of terrible that you see on the evening news and trashy talk shows, but still disturbing none-the-less. Before I continue, let me just stop right here and say that it wasn’t my idea. I blame the DMV.
As anyone with a driver’s license knows, every few decades or so, they insist on you updating your “picture” (and I use this term loosely. Verrrrry loosely). Not only that, but to make matters even worse, you have to update your hair color and weight, too.
Like most people, I’m not overly fond of my driver’s license picture. I look like a cross between a startled ferret and a convict. So normally I wouldn’t mind updating it. However, there’s an upside in sticking with the photo I have; such as, I’m much younger. And thinner. And prettier. Plus, I have natural colored hair.
The downside is when cashiers look at the picture and then look at me, and then back at the picture with at with the same disbelieving look usually reserved for people running down the street naked. Or having commentary like, “Gee, you darkened your hair” which everyone older than 35 knows is secret code for, “What in the heck happened to you?”
But all in all, I’ve grown attached to my current driver’s license photo in a love-hate sort of way. And now I’m forced to give all this up because someone at the DMV (probably a man, but I’m not pointing figures here) decided I need a new picture.
Sure, some of you may think this is pretty silly. And, hey, it is.
However, something like this is huge in my shallow, pathetic little world.
So I did what any, ahem, older woman in my position would do: I went to a salon to have my hair dyed and highlighted. Then I bought an Eye Puffiness Minimizing Cream, and something called a Super Energizing Placenta Extract Lotion to get rid of “tiny lines and creases.” I’ve also been flossing daily, and I whitened my teeth.
A week, and around twenty bazillion dollars later, I was finally ready for The Big Day. Sort of.
This is how it went:
DMV Guy: Weight the same?
Me: Sure, especially if I dangle one arm on the scale.
DMV Guy: OK, now stand straight and look into the camera.
Me: Uh, excuse me, can you put a bit of Vaseline on the lens?
DMV Guy: No, ma’am.
Me: OK, can you use softer lighting then?
DMV Guy: No.
Me: Well then, how about just taking my right side?
DMV Guy: No.
Me: Can I at least put my hand underneath my chin? Tilt my head to the left? STEP BACK?
Intellectually I knew yelling wasn’t the most effective thing to do. But this didn’t seem to stop me. “For gosh sakes,” I cried, “just PULL BACK!” I hopped over the desk and lunged for the camera.
OK, so this isn’t exactly what happened. But it happened this way in my head.
Fast forward: a few weeks later I got my new driver’s license in the mail, and it wasn’t of me; rather, it was of a 40-something-ish lady with the same hair style wearing my clothes. Oh, sure, intellectually I know it’s me. But darn it, I miss my old picture. (Insert whining and foot stomping here.)
All right, so it isn’t the end of the world, so-to-speak. And the funny thing is that, 10 years from now when I have to do it all over again, I’ll look at this driver’s license picture and think how young I was. And thin. And pretty.
Oh, the injustice of it all.
