So I’m finally getting around to properly changing my name, so yesterday I got the passport and DVLA forms ready. I still needed to get my deed poll witnessed so the plan was to get that done on Friday then send them off. However, my insurance company had other ideas and after calling, texting and emailing me to say I needed to get it sorted pronto I thought I’d use a quiet afternoon to get it out of the way. And anyway, M needed to nap and a walk always does the trick.

Over a cuppa the forms were witnessed and the DVLA one went in the post straight away. Just the passport to sort out. So I queued up in the post office (never good for the mood, in my opinion) and handed all my paperwork over, making use of the ‘check and send’ service. Turned out I’d brought lots of bits I didn’t need. Which kind of worried me. I thought I had it sussed. We were getting there though, slowly. She just needed my pictures. And I was sure I didn’t need them done this time. We debated. I checked leaflets. She checked with the boss. Turned out she was right and I was a plonker that now needed to get pictures done. Without preparation!

Issue no. 1: Getting a photo taken that I’ll have to live with for another 10 years, with shocking hair and puke stained shoulders. Great.

So off I trotted to the chemist to get them done. Thought I’d pop into the bank to quickly change my name there, since I had more ID on me than ever before. I queued, again, for a while at the help desk, but since all the cashiers were free I trotted over there instead, thinking they’d be able to help. But no. They couldn’t.

Issue no. 2: So back to the queue that had doubled in my 2 minute absence. Joy. When I realised that the people in front were not going to be done any time soon, I decided to leave it and move on. I could always come back.

At the chemist, the photo guy took me over to the white background wall, once I’d gained his attention, and then…

Issue no. 3: …told me that for a passport photo my fringe couldn’t be touching my eyebrows. I’d have to push it to the side (and look even worse than I already did) or get it cut. I needed a trim anyway, so promised to return with it sorted.

So, off to the hairdressers. Picked one I hadn’t tried before. Brave given the day I was having, but they quickly booked me in, and with a big, black apron over me and sleeping M my fringe was trimmed. I couldn’t imagine how ridiculous having it hovering over my eyebrows would look, so it was ‘bouffed’ instead to fake it. Happy days. Paid and then headed back to the chemist.

The guy got me set up against the wall again. Then got sent in his break, with his boss taking over the photo shoot.

Issue no. 4: She then informed me that my fringe couldn’t be where it was. I’d have to push it away or get a hairband to push it back. I could feel the frustration building.

What’s worse? A stupid central parting in a fringe that’s now too short to do anything else with, or wearing an Alice band in public at the grand old age of 34? Beyond caring, and quietly vowing never to let my new passport’s photo page see daylight, I shoved my fringe wherever I needed to get the picture done and dashed to the counter to pay and escape the torture.

Issue no. 5: With no cash on me I’d assumed I could use my card. But the charge was below the bottom limit. So off to the nearest cash point for me.

Cash withdrawn, it was back to the chemist again, and once that was done I was determined to ride out the queue in the bank to get that out of the way before sending off my remaining ID at the post office. Queued I did.

Issue no. 6: Joy of joy, I got the newby who took an age to finally tell me that it couldn’t be done without a PIN for my card (I don’t use the account other than online, so I don’t have one). I’d have to order a new PIN then come back and do it. Once one or other of my photo IDs were returned, that is.

The poor guy was only doing what he was told too, and I’m not impressed with myself, but the politeness I’d been able to maintain through gritted teeth so far was beginning to fade. I left in a huff. I could feel myself regressing… At least the boy was still asleep and not having to witness his embarrassing mother perform.

So back to the post office. I handed back all of my papers, and the gorgeous photos.

Issue no. 7: Just the £89 to pay!! When on earth did changing your surname get so expensive?? And why didn’t I know that before I came?

I paid. I got out of there as soon as I could. I just wanted to scurry back home and feel sorry for myself over a cuppa. I ran for the bus and was delighted to just make it, until…

Issue no. 8: …moments after jumping on heard a tremendous eruption from M with a royal stink to match. Oh the shame…

I figured I’d ride it out and get home as quickly as possible. Then

Issue no. 9: M woke up. And started crying.

Jigging him around to calm him, like a slightly insane woman, helped for a bit but…

Issue no. 10: …when 50 million school kids got on the bus, and noticed the smell, I gave up. Got off. And walked my tension away.

What a day! I KNEW there was a good reason for not having attempted this before!


3 thoughts on “Frustration

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