Picture Perfect

Yesterday I renewed my driver’s license.The tag office is on the way to and from my exercise class, so I thought it would be a good time to get that little chore over with. Warm and glistening from the morning workout, my hair was combed and my face glowed from a dab of make up. Ah, yes. This time that ill-fated picture the state feels compelled to require should be better than  previous ones.

The driver’s license line was fairly short and soon after entering the building, I went forward, paid my twenty dollars, leaned into the viewing machine and answered a couple of questions. I read the numbers, noticed the blinking lights for peripheral vision check; all went well. Then, I sat down in front of the camera. That huge, ugly, impersonal camera.

Usually, I try smiling but I have been told that only makes me look like I’m in pain, so I went for the sedate, wise, aloof effect. I didn’t smile. The camera whirred. I should have been forewarned by the look of sympathy on the operator’s face as she gazed at the results. She smiled gently and told me it would take only a few minutes for my new license.

Right on time, the young woman called my name and I picked up that palm-sized document giving me the right to drive. Glancing at my photo and expecting to see this fairly decent looking person I’ve known for a few decades, I nearly swallowed my teeth! Who was that woman? A grim-faced, bespectacled person glared up at me, gray hair in about fifty different directions, mouth a straight, unsmiling line, eyes squinting into the camera. It was a mug shot and the mug was mine!

Gazing at that horrid, awful, terrible, unsavory picture, the mental image I carry around of myself dissolved completely. I have no more illusions. I might as well forget about combing my hair. I can save a lot of money by buying no more make up and the fact that I was a glowing, glistening picture of health straight from an exercise class is forever lost upon the world.

There’s only one consolation. This excruciatingly painful process will not have to be repeated for four more years. And who knows? In four years maybe I’ll actually take a better picture. One thing is certain–it can’t be a worse one.

Lest you think I have forgotten this is St. Pat’s Day, let me assure you I have not! God’s might to direct me, God’s power to protect me. —ST. PATRICK

I leave you with a picture of the Emerald Isle and an Irish blessing. Wishing you a rainbow for sunlight after showers–Miles and miles of Irish smiles for golden, happy hours-Shamrocks at your doorway for luck and laughter too, And a host of friends that never ends each day your whole life through.