THIS IS MY SIXTH trip to the Social Security office. I am likely as tired of talking about this saga as you are of hearing it, Dear Reader! But I must go on....
I've got Aunt Ann's passport with me today. When I drove to the retirement home yesterday to see her, and to pick up this important document, we spent time looking through it and noting all the entries. Ann reminisced about her years in Germany doing mission work, and the many European countries she visited. "There was a time," she said, "when I had visited more countries than I had visited states in the U.S."
"I was told to bring photo ID. Last time I was here, I was told it could be a driver's license or passport, either one."
I wait quietly as he pages through the passport, studies the photo. Then he says. "We can't use this! It's too old!"
"What do you mean? How do you decide it's too old?!" Dear Reader, I am immediately hot under the collar, even though wearing a scoop-neck tee. "It's got a photo of her!" I argue. "It says, 'mole on right cheek'... and she's still got the mole!"
Please allow me time, Reader Dear, to collect myself .
It seems MY PATIENCE HAS EXPIRED!!
(...yes, to be cont'd, if we all live
long enough, Dear Reader Dear)