I have a nemesis. The passport application form.
It should be simple. Fill out the form, send it off with a cute photo and bosh! New passport for your kid. IT’S NOT THAT SIMPLE.
On the first form my countersignatory signed just outside the box. JUST. Like, less than a millimetre. apparently seeing someone’s teeth is a no-no too. Anyone tried getting a passport photo for a two-year-old? Getting this kid to sit still (on my shoulder incidentally, with my arse sticking out of the photo booth) is hard enough without having to worry about his eyes being level with the line, head straight, looking forward, neutral expression. Talk about ridiculous, jeez. What’s he gonna do, hide a bomb in his nappy? (actually he doesn’t wear nappies but still, he’s hardly the underwear bomber).
So then I did another form. Made a small mistake and had to go over a letter to make it bold. Yep, rejected again, with the second photo where Max had a shadow under his neck.
Third time lucky? Taking no chances with the photo, I took Max to a photo studio and paid a tenner for all of 3 minutes of the photographers time whilst Max sat for 2 snaps before promptly bursting into uncontrollable sobs. Still, we got the money shot. (Literally. Seriously thinking about setting up a kids passport photo studio).
I attempted the form today, was so nervous about filling it out correctly that I put Andy’s passport number instead of mine in the box. This is the point the form got the better of me. Oversensitive? Yup, but after countless trips to the post office, finding last-minute countersignatories, hemorrhaging money to pay for photos and a holiday booked in FIVE WEEKS I’d had enough. A new low: crying over a mistaken form. At work. Nice one.
So here I sit, surrounded by rejected applications and my final form which I’ve just asked my neighbour to counter-sign and guess what? She made a mistake. I’ll take it to my new BFFs at the post office but I know what’ll happen. I’ll try not to clobber them with my reams of useless forms, get a new one and start the rigmarole again. Only this time we have a 2-day bank holiday to hold things up leaving 5 weeks to get my Son a passport. Otherwise I’ll have to smuggle him across the continent in a (well-ventilated) suitcase. It’ll be an adventure, yes?
Now, excuse me, I’m off drown myself in wine, eat my body weight (or the weight of the stack of applications, whichever’s heaviest. I’m guessing the latter at this rate) in chocolate and laugh at my dog trying to catch the fly buzzing round the room. It’s pretty funny.