I chuckle every time I glance over at our little pile in the
corner of things we plan to take to Mozambique with us. The pile itself
isn’t entertaining. It’s the copies of our passports lying on top.
Mark squished our passports right next to each other to fit
them both on one sheet. His passport is older; he got it back in 2006. My
passport is band-spanking-new, because I hadn’t traveled outside of the country
since getting married and changing my last name.
When Mark had his passport photo taken, apparently there
were no facial expression requirements. Now, I know this about my husband:
whenever there are no facial expression guidelines for him to follow for a
photo, the facial expression he will assume will not be normal. His passport photo is no exception. His head is
cocked slightly to the left and up, his eyes are slightly closed, and his mouth
is hanging open in a wide lazy smile.
When I went in January to have my passport photo taken, I
was told I couldn’t smile. I had to look serious. I remembered, from having my
driver’s license photo taken two years ago that when I’m told I can’t smile and
a picture is taken of me stoically staring at the camera, I’m bound to look
drugged. So, being the quick thinker that I am, I made every effort to open my eyes
wide in what I hoped was an alert and intelligent facial expression.
I’ve since realized I need to go stand in front of the
mirror making facial expressions for at least 15 minutes a day because the
result of my attempt to look ‘alert’ and ‘intelligent’ actually comes across
as, “Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to kill
you if you don’t let me into your country.”
So, our packing list that had been on paper is slowly
materializing in the corner of our house, our places of employment are making
plans to fill in the chinks while we’re gone, and our fridge is slowly emptying
out.
We’re so excited to see all these plans finally turn into
realities!
-Hillary
This is when I would start having dreams that I oversleep and miss the plane or I leave my luggage at home... any such dreams?
ReplyDeleteI had an 'I don't care what you think, I will kill you' look on my face for my passport. The picture actually came to describe how I felt when the customs official was flipping through my passport in Ethiopia. What gets me about some officials is how they flip through your booklet so slowly. They look at you then the look at your passport then back at you...it felt like this happened several times until they say, "What is your business in this country?" At that moment it's hard to not want to jump over the counter, I'm not sure why, but I felt VERY defensive (don't say 'Because I'm an American ;)).
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