I had been all prepared to mourn.
After all, the photo on my driver’s license was pretty darned special. It had been taken in June of 2008, less than a week after my return from our honeymoon in Virgin Gorda. I was tanned, in crazy-good shape, stupidly in love, and gainfully employed with families I adored.
We lived in an apartment that couldn’t have been any cuter if it tried, we saw our friends with alarming regularity, and P.J. and I were even gearing up to play opposite each other onstage that summer.
And all of that reflected in this picture.
Each time I’ve renewed my license since that ridiculously charmed summer, they’ve allowed me to keep my photograph in place. And I counted myself lucky- I mean, a good driver’s license picture?
But then I received a notice in the mail a few weeks back. My license needed to be renewed before June of 2014. A vision test would need to be aced. And a new photo would be taken.
So I put it off. I didn’t want to see what not-so-newlywed Keely would look like for the foreseeable future of I.D. checks. These days, my skin is borderline translucent. I have not attended twice-weekly ab classes since…my honeymoon. And although I’m still stupidly in love, I’m also a tad demented with children.
But thanks to the big ol’ ceiling project and a husband who worked from home on Tuesday, the stars aligned to have me take only one kid to the DMV during Big Kid Naptime. So Jasper and I drove to the overcrowded facility which practically buzzed with ill will. I settled in with my momentarily peaceful infant and prepared to while the day away.
I was called up seven minutes later.
And I destroyed the vision test with my accuracy. (Old lady WHAT?)
Then I was sent to the cashier line- and had a glimmer of hope. Maybe they’d just keep the old photo in place! Maybe they wouldn’t ask me to-
“Stand here for your picture, please.”
I sighed, hefted Jasper’s car seat next to me, squared my shoulders, and prepared to look like a tired Mom for the next eight years in airport security lines.
But the guy taking the picture paused after the camera clicked.
“Oh my God,” he said. “That’s damned beautiful.”
I demurred slightly, sure that he said that to all the non-snaggletoothed ladies who didn’t drag their foot into this joint.
“No, for real. Come see this!” He gestured to his colleague. “That’s straight gorgeous.”
His coworker agreed. I gave them both my Actual, Full On Smile. (After all, they’d earned it.)
I took another seat and waited for my new glamour shot- which, honestly, I still doubted was anything spectacular. I mean, I had been a classically trained actor for years, so I’d hope that I’d at least be able to smile for a darned camera without grimacing. But that’s as far as my hope ran. Because= Demented With Child.
“Here you go. Ain’t it great?”
IT TOTALLY WAS.
I probably wouldn’t use it as a senior yearbook headshot or anything- but Hey there, TSA agents and/or bar bouncers, yes you MAY see my I.D.!
It’s the little things.
Specifically, the little things that have the potential to be soul-crushingly awful.
And I am never ever ever giving up this picture.
Until they make me.
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