I Want a Refund on my Grass.

The actual lawn kind, guys. Get your minds out of Woodstock circa 1970. 
I learned a hard lesson when I went to renew my driver's license a few months ago. I had been stuck with my pre-senior year, post-cross country practice photo for four years. It was time for a date-mandated, horizontal change.
I dutifully decided to go to the tag agency before the July 31st expiration date.
And there I learned the grass isn't greener. The second license picture is no better than the first. In fact, it's worse.
I didn't know the meaning of a poor picture until this July. 
Let me backtrack. This summer has easily been the most emotional of my life. And that's saying something for a crybaby like me. I've literally been on the verge of tears daily. 
So when Hudiberg called to report on the progress of my Toyota Matrix and told me it would take yet another (THIRD!) unscheduled day to install cruise control, I may or may not have lost it in anger. 
As a result, my eyes were red and my face was puffy during my drive to the tag agency. 
And my eyes and face remained the same during the picture process.
So, A Very Lucky Girl looks like she belongs at Woodstock circa 1970. And here is where this post on grass comes full circle.


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