As ya'll know, my birthday was last week. And I noticed two days before that my license was about to expire. Oh noooo. So off to the computer I went, to make an appointment to get my snazzy new picture. I show up on time, and graciously smile at the person behind the counter.
"Driver's license?" she snaps. I hand it over.
"Social security card?" I give it to her.
"Marriage license?" SAY WHAT?!?!
"I don't have it with me. But I've been married for almost sixteen years." I smile at her. It does no good. It's like a hair dryer against a glacier.
"You need it. Go to the courthouse and get your license. You were married in Florida, weren't you?" I nod meekly.
"Go the courthouse across the street. Get your license. Bye."
So I call Mr. R, vent about how ridiculous this is that they want a marriage license from me, when, HELLLOOOO, they are the ones who issued me the drivers license with my married name in the first place. I get in line at the courthouse. A much more pleasant woman this time.
"Hi. I need a copy of my marriage license. The DMV tells me I need it." She nods. Has clearly heard this story before.
"Were you married in Volusia county?"
"No, Orange county." I tell her.
"Sorry, you have to go to the Orlando courthouse to get your license. We won't have it here." At this point, I want to cry. I've just lost two hours in lines and didn't even get anywhere. I don't have time to drive to Orlando and back, and also pick up Bucket from school. I give up.
Yesterday, Mr. R was home, and offered to go to Orlando to get the license. My license is expired, so I'm not going anywhere if I can help it. He calls me from the courthouse.
"We have a problem."
"What's that?" I ask, not really even paying attention, because I'm working on an account that has me puzzled.
"They can't find it."
"What?!?!" I shriek.
"Our license is not on record. When we got married, who was supposed to submit our license?"
"I think the pastor does it!" I exclaim.
"I don't think he did. We are looking through all of the August 1994 licenses and we're not in here."
Me. In the back of my head: "I'M SINGLE?!!?"
He is cracking up. I can hear a few women behind him laughing. I said, "We're not married?" and he replied, "Not according to Orange county." Which is when I heard a shriek of laughter from the records clerk trying to help him.
I said, "What are we going to do? Have we been living in sin for sixteen years?!?!" and I didn't realize he had put me on speaker phone. The poor records clerk in Orlando probably wet her pants. She was howling like a basset hound. He said, through his own laughter, "They're going to let me look through some files. Let me call you back." I was tempted to call our current pastor and ask him if he could marry us real quick so I could get my drivers license. Then I realized the craziness of the situation and just started laughing. I pondered if going on match.com would be an issue for Mr. R. Then my phone rang.
"They found it. They were spelling our last name wrong again."
"So we're married?" I asked.
"Yes. Don't sound so happy about it. I'll be home in an hour. You owe me big." Click.
So, thank you, Orange County. For telling me I'm married. And for many jokes for years to come.
By the way, I got my license today. After all that, they charged me a late fee, and took the most hideous picture ever. I look like Miss Piggy. I should not have worn pink.