Today, I finally got my driver’s licence renewed, two months after it expired. To celebrate, I had this for dinner…

How cute is that mini bottle of champagne? Ryan bought a four-pack for me a few weeks ago, and surviving the DPS seemed good enough reason as any to make a little 6 pm mimosa. And I am convinced that the DPS exists solely to show sane, rational people that there is another way. This is evidenced by the large sign that read: “Numbers are not called in numerical order or in the order of arrival. If you don’t come immediately when your number is called, you lose your turn!” Talk about anxiety. I’m waiting for #61 to be called but hearing, “#2043 it is now your turn…#3 it is now your turn…#105 it is now your turn.” Finally, #61 was called and I made my way to the counter and the clerk who had definitely not gotten the memo that ’tis the season of merriment and good cheer.

I am depressed about my new picture. My old picture was decent- this new one, not so much. And mixed blessing- this one doesn’t expire until 2017. So I’m stuck with this horrible picture for at least the next 5 years (hopefully 10, if I get to renew online next time). And then I texted one of my besties afterwards about this and she gloated sweetly informed me that she got to renew hers online, so she gets to keep the pre-babies, 22-year old version of her picture.

So back to my husband, who does sweet things like buying me mini-champagne bottles and taking me to lunch after leaving the Twilight Zone, we had this gem of a conversation after dropping off the kiddo at my parents’ house and making the trip out to Rosenberg (a good 5 times the distance of the closer DPS office, but totally worth only waiting 1 hour instead of 4):

Me: I am so glad we get a little break this morning

Ryan: Yeah, G-Man is a lot of work. I don’t know how you do it day after day, all day long.

Me: Yes, but then when I’m not with him, I really, really miss him. I wish I could just hold him right now.

Ryan: Well, it’s because you are so used to having him with you all the time. It’s like underwear. If you left the house without it, you would feel weird, like something is missing.

Me: Hmmmm.

So evidently, Grayson=underwear. Can’t leave home without it.

Gotta love that guy.

And in case you were wondering, Grayson is doing fine, considering he already needs another haircut and has a hole in his stomach.

But his life is obviously exponentially more secure now that his driver is legal again.