passports.

I thought I'd changed my name to "Evans" on everything of consequence and had peacefully put the thought out of my mind. However, due to the fact that the Fickers/Adams/Evans clan will be sailing out of United States waters in May in honor of Kyle's graduation, I realized that my passport still says "Virginia Leigh Ficker."

Tuesday after work at 1:00 I drove straight to CVS for new passport photos ($6.99), then on home to find my marriage certificate. Tore the flipping house apart, couldn't find it. Literally sweating, with papers out of every file in the filing cabinet, I sat down with my head in my hands and asked for grace to find the piece of paper. Had the sudden idea to look in the glove box of my car...where I found the certificate. Eureka! It's 2:45.

Drove to my office to fill out the Passport Renewal form after realizing the one I had was not completely printed and I needed to photocopy the marriage certificate. Also needed to print draft two of my novel. Nilla, bless her, the administrative person told me that a photocopy would not do, that I would need to drive to the courthouse for a certified copy of the thing. Ten bucks. So what can I do but go?

Drive downtown, park on the street a block from the courthouse only to realize...I don't have a quarter to feed the meter. Ughh.... oh wait! There are 35 minutes left on the meter. I get out of the car and speed-walk (Olympic style) to the courthouse. Get up to the right office, walk in, get everything in order and then... "Cash only," says the nice lady behind the counter.

"What?"

"We only take cash."

I even brought my checkbook dang it.

"Where is the nearest ATM?"

"Three blocks down Second Street."

Off to the races again...run/walking to the ATM to make it back to the courthouse and to the car in what is now 22 minutes.

Pay the $3 fee at the Wachovia ATM and run back to the courthouse. Get the certificate. Get a second one for good measure. So far we're up to $29.99. Take it all, look at the clock: 3:47 p.m. What time does the post office close? 5:00? Okay. To the post office.

Standing in line at the post office where the clerk always flirts with me in this kind of cute way, saddened by my rings, he is waiting on a woman who, suddenly, falls to the floor and has a full blown seizure. True story. Who calls 9-1-1? Me. I do. Captain Ginny Bug. Deal with the woman having the seizure, mail my passport to Philadelphia ($3.74) along with a $75.00 check made out to the Department of State. $108.73 simply to change my name from "Ficker" to "Evans" on my stupid passport.

This.is.the.story.of.my.life.