“I had quite an adventure today, Minnie. I got my picture taken.”

“So?  Big deal.  What the hell?”

“Wait. Babs has a birthday coming up this week, and mine was back in July, so we both had to get our photos taken for our driver’s license.  Well, we decided to go on our lunch hour.   We planned to stop for lunch after our photo shoot, but @%$@% happens.”


“We got there and the place was jammed, mostly with old folks, who could barely walk.  Babs and I wondered how the hell  these people still drive.  Anyway, we had to take a number and wait our turn.  It reminded me of going to the grocery store on a Saturday, waiting in line at the deli, while someone was ordering a half pound of liverwurst, a half pound of chopped ham, a small container of potato salad, 3 red beet eggs, a quarter pound of swiss cheese, a slab of bacon and a rotisserie chicken. By the time they got their order, those of us still waiting, began to seethe and foam at the mouth.”

“Long wait, eh?”

“The first person in line was number 565.  There he was, an old goat, with a grey pony tail, tied up in the back, with a flannel shirt and blue jeans. An old hippie. Photo number 1.  Nope.  He didn’t like it.  Photo number 2.  His eyes were closed.  Number 3:  Oh no way.  Finally, the photographer substituted his photo for one of Brad Pitt.  Yes!  He took it. That made number 566.  Only 15 more to go.”

“Oh for crazy!”

“We watched and waited as the parade continued. The old and infirm turned out to be very picky about their photos.  I guess they hadn’t looked in the mirror lately.  Those 2 gals who were taking the photos, tried consoling, flattery and sympathy, never flinching, always smiling and feeding them with bs.”

“So when your number was called, then what?”

“I had the back luck to be the next one, after Barb.  Her photo was spectacular.  She had a new hair do, and looked fabulous.  I heard the photographer raving about her picture.  So I slinked up to the purple curtain, wearing my trench coat and devil horns, and the lady in the control remarked, “Oh hello inspector Clouseau.”


“I flashed her, and she told me “Hey no horns allowed.”

“Why do you have to be obnoxious, Wolf?”

“I connected with the lady and asked her if she liked her job, since she was so pleasant with all of us idiots, and she said,” I love my job and I love my meds even more.”

“How did your photo turn out?”

“Gorgeous.  She took one look at my photo, and said, “Oh no, dear.  Let’s take one more.” And the next thing I knew, I had turned into Angelina Jolie.”

“What the hell?”

“I was ecstatic, until I got home, and took a look at my driver’s license.  Hell, that damn goof had given me someone else’s photo.  Who the hell is that old grey woman, in a trench coat, wearing horns?”




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