DMV
So while
illusiongrl's off getting divorved, I'm at the DMV getting my license renewed. While waiting in line, I pull out my license, and find with it the registration to my Honda. Glancing at this tattered piece of paper I realize that the registration expired in February. "Eep!" says the suddenly mouse-like Bear.
I should explain at this point that among my many anxieties, is one about going to jail and dancing the cornhole tango with Willie the tattoo artist. So I immediately begin eyeing the younger-and-obviously-more-fit-not-to-mention-revolver-toting police boy in the corner, wondering if I can outrun him when he tries to haul me off to the pokey for having an unregistered vehicle - which by the way
illusiongrl has been driving ever since Elvis went to his reward (that's her former car, not the bloated former pop star). Although, of course, I'm planning to tell them that the car's been sitting in my driveway going nowhere since February, since a law abiding dude like myself would never dream of operating an unregistered vehicle. Knowingly, anyway.
After a moment though, I remember that when the registration on my trailer lapsed, they didn't make a big deal of it at all. So I approach the counter and explain the situation. They give me a tiny piece of paper to fill out and charge me $24. Or maybe that was for the license - I don't remember, but it wasn't much.
And the lady at the counter is really nice and even laughs at a couple of my jokes. There's a sign under the camera for the license photo which says "You are allowed to smile." But of course my picture is awful, because I tried, while still recovering from the whole imaginary registration fiasco.
Out the door and headed for the car, I'm feeling the same kind of happy relief one feels after a really good bowel movement. Its the government after all.
illusiongrl's off getting divorved, I'm at the DMV getting my license renewed. While waiting in line, I pull out my license, and find with it the registration to my Honda. Glancing at this tattered piece of paper I realize that the registration expired in February. "Eep!" says the suddenly mouse-like Bear.
I should explain at this point that among my many anxieties, is one about going to jail and dancing the cornhole tango with Willie the tattoo artist. So I immediately begin eyeing the younger-and-obviously-more-fit-not-to-mention-revolver-toting police boy in the corner, wondering if I can outrun him when he tries to haul me off to the pokey for having an unregistered vehicle - which by the way
illusiongrl has been driving ever since Elvis went to his reward (that's her former car, not the bloated former pop star). Although, of course, I'm planning to tell them that the car's been sitting in my driveway going nowhere since February, since a law abiding dude like myself would never dream of operating an unregistered vehicle. Knowingly, anyway.
After a moment though, I remember that when the registration on my trailer lapsed, they didn't make a big deal of it at all. So I approach the counter and explain the situation. They give me a tiny piece of paper to fill out and charge me $24. Or maybe that was for the license - I don't remember, but it wasn't much.
And the lady at the counter is really nice and even laughs at a couple of my jokes. There's a sign under the camera for the license photo which says "You are allowed to smile." But of course my picture is awful, because I tried, while still recovering from the whole imaginary registration fiasco.
Out the door and headed for the car, I'm feeling the same kind of happy relief one feels after a really good bowel movement. Its the government after all.