Where's My E?
Warning: This blog contains graphic imagery that may offend. It mentions 'boobs'.
Boy. What. A. Day.
Today was comprised of three major life changing episodes for me.
First of all I came knocking on death’s door. I had a brush with death.
Ok, not really, I just had to go back and have a second mammogram and ultrasound but to be fair, I spent three hours having my boobs man-handled, twisted, stretched and squashed as flat as a pancake to be sure I didn’t have cancer.
I don’t have cancer, but boy, oh boy, do THEY hurt now. Of course they could be worse but the fact that they’re 42 year old working/retired breasts means they’re quite malleable.
HEY, I never said this was a ‘good taste’ blog (just beating you to any complaints about the lewd content).
Then secondly, my follow up article on ‘How to tell when your son reaches puberty’, the girl version, was accepted and published straight away. YAY me!
It was all ripped out from under me. My life as I knew it was over. I had to come home and work out how I was going to go on.
You see I lost my driver’s license around a month ago (last night, if you’re a police officer) and had to go get a replacement.
No big deal, just bring in my passport for ID.
Passport has me labelled as ‘Mariann’.
Oh my gosh, the nightmare that was my original passport application flashed through my poor battered brain (it wasn’t only the boobs at that stage).
Let me start from the beginning. This is what I imagined it went down.
I am born.
Mum says to Dad, “Let’s name her after your Mum because it’s your parents wedding anniversary.”
Dad says, “Great!”
Mum says, “You fill in the birth certificate Bruno.”
Dad says, “Great!”
Mum says, “So Bruno, not Marianna, we’ll call her Marianne.”
Dad says, “Great!” (not sure at this point if he was even listening)
Mum says, “Bruno, did you fill in the birth certificate?”
Dad says, “Yes.”
I am named Marianne
EVERYTHING in my life is named Marianne
18 years later when I get my birth certificate to present for my driver’s license test, I discover I am actually named Mariann.
Mum says, “Bruno I said call her Marianne.”
Dad says, “Maria I did. Marianna without the ‘a’.”
WHERE IS MY EEEEEEEEE?
Oh, my poor missing ‘E’ came back to haunt me when I applied for my passport at 33 years old. My driver’s license says I’m Marianne. My birth certificate tells a different story and I’m lining up with statutory declarations to prove that I haven’t pinched someone else’s identity. Someone else’s ‘E’.
So this morning I line up for my replacement license, smile at the camera and the lady at the counter then says, “It’s all good. Oh hang on. NO. Your passport doesn’t have an ‘E’.”
A feeling of panic threatens to explode my head. I’m about to explain when she says, “But it’s ok, I have to change your license to match your passport now.”
I’m about to explain when she says, “It’s ok, it’ll only take me a second coz I can do it now on the spot, on the screen.”
I almost pass out. “You just need to change your Medicare cards, credit cards and everything now and they’ll all match.”
Does she not realise I’m 42???
I need to change 42 years of my life because her screen allowed her to do it in a second.
I don’t even know who I am anymore. What are my kids going to name their daughters?
Every generation can drop a letter?
How important can an ‘E’ be?
Please kids, just name your kids ‘Jane’ .
J.A.N.E. Don’t forget the EEEEEEEE.
Enough With the Lemons