Did they tell you not to smile?

Hello, my name is Erin, I'm 34 and have no Passport. 

"Hi, Erin". 

Well, that is what I feel should happen. Seriously, though....where do I go? I don't need a Passport. Last I checked you didn't need one to enter the Total Wine, Ikea or the Container Store in Scottsdale. I travel for work but unless the fabulous city of Huntsville, AL was out of country lines; I think I am OK. 

I didn't want a Passport to remind me of the places I have yet to visit. The empty pages staring at me like a nagging girlfriend. "Get out and get a life," it would say. But what I really didn't want to have to deal with - the Passport photo! I secretly moved to AZ so my license didn't expire for 75 years and can use the same photo until I am in my late 50's (its actually a really good photo, dumb luck I guess). So I couldn't risk having a bad Passport photo, it would kill me. 

So I prepared, planned, exfoliated, moisturized and spritzed. I was ready, I had the light dewy glow of sun-kissed skin, there wasn't a curl out of place and I had practiced my best smile, not too big because my face is already huge. I strut into the Passport office on the campus of the University of Arizona in my best outfit (super cute newly purchased vintage heels) and what, it was closed! Blimey. What to do? I have 60 minutes to take the best photo of my life. 

I raced to CVS to find some drunk college kid stole their camera, lovely, Tucson. Off to Walgreens where the lady behind the photo counter was seriously untrained in taking a good photo. I almost backed out, I couldn't trust her in her stained kacky pants and greasy hair to take a good picture. And she didn't. It was horrible. My necklace was all jacked up and my chin seemed to have grown three more while I stood there. But I was over it and I didn't want to break her little heart - she seemed so proud of it. So I paid the money, took the crappy photo and quickly had Derek make fun of how weird I look. Ugh. Perfect outfit and hair-day wasted!

Cut to try #2 at the UofA Passport office, I turn in my photo and the young lady (why is everyone so much younger than me?) says, "we can't use this, your glasses have major glare. We must retake." What, no, no, no, she must be mistaken? I have on yoga pants, my hair hasn't seen Wen in five days and the only makeup I have on is a light tinted moisturizer (no, thank you Josie Maran). But I was forced, and this picture is beyond bad. It will haunt me, follow me around like some bad Nick Nolte mug shot. 

At least I still have my Visa picture to take - and trust me, I will hire a stylist if I need to.