Passport to Ugly Island

My husband and I have a saying that we tease each other with occasionally, one of those phrases that have special meaning. When we got married we agreed that this marriage would be until death do us part; divorce is not an option, basically we are stuck with each other. Today I had occasion to remind him that he is stuck with me forever.

I needed a current passport photo since my passport expires later this year. After putting it off for weeks, finally today while we were out running errands I asked Paul to stop at Walgreens so I could get that taken care of. He headed for the prescription counter and I strode confidently over to the photo counter. Charlie was a pro, and quickly took out their camera. He positioned me in front of the blank white pull down screen under the unflattering fluorescent lighting, telling me not to smile but show only the required neutral expression. Two quick snaps and it was over. When he inserted the disc into the PC and pulled up the photos, I was shocked. I had no idea that zero makeup and windblown, 3rd day hair could translate into such a horribly ugly picture. My previous passport pic was not good, but this – this was a new level of ugly I had never seen. Way worse than Farrah Fawcett back in the 80’s when she uglied up for that movie.

Charlie looked at me. “Which one do you want to use?” “They are both equally bad,” I replied. “Whichever one you think.” He nodded sympathetically and wisely chose the one that seemed not as close up as the other. “Come back in 10 minutes and I’ll have it ready for you,” he said kindly. Probably wants me out of here fast so he can erase that image from his PC and his brain, I thought. I couldn’t blame him.

I shook off my shock at looking so bad in that photo. I’ve been called ugly before, but not since Mike Brown told my 7th grade English class they’d have to put a bone around my neck to get the dog to play with me. I confess, 7th grade was not my year for looks. But since then I’ve improved, and I think of myself as reasonably attractive. Until today. I shopped for a birthday card for one of our granddaughters, joined Paul in the valentine aisle to view the cheesy stuff. Wandering out of that aisle I looked toward Photo, spotted Charlie. “Come on,” I said, “let’s see if my pics are ready.”

“You’re all set,” Charlie said as I approached the counter. As I punched numbers on the payment screen, Paul asked how the photos came out. “Pretty bad,” I said. “Trust me, you don’t want to see them.” He laughed, reached for the envelope with the pics and opened it. “Wow,” he said. “Are you sure you want to pay for these?” I looked up in dismay. “I know, it’s terrible. You really think I should pay to have them re-done?” He considered for a moment, then shook his head. “No, we’re already at check out. Besides, no one will ever see them except strangers at airports.”

We paid and left the store, me walking less confidently than 15 minutes earlier. I couldn’t shake the image of me looking like I’d been picked up for drunk driving at 3 a.m. and held in a jail cell for 6 hours. Did I really look like that at the moment? Surely it couldn’t be. As we got into the truck I pulled down the visor mirror. I still looked like me, just not the best me with hair styled and make up applied. I closed the mirror cover and felt a little better.

Until I looked over at Paul, who was staring at me. “What?” I asked. “Do I really look like that photo?” He took a few moments to reply. “Maybe I’d better get my eyes checked,” he said slowly. “You look fine to me, but that is truly an awful picture.” My husband always compliments me on my looks (well, except for that time when he asked, “Do you like the way you look in that dress?”) and he’s a straight up kind of guy. To see him visibly shaken by my passport picture was a real downer. “Remember, we’re stuck!” I said cheerfully. “I know,” he said, shaking his head. Then we both got tickled at what a big deal we were making over a bad photo.

“Maybe you’d better send that off in the mail today,” he suggested. “I’m still trying to get that image out of my mind, it might help to know it is out of the house.” The one liners started coming, fast and furious.

“Reminds me of a country song, my wife is ugly but she sure can cook. Oh wait, I’m the cook in our family…”

“Remember when Farrah Fawcett did that movie with no makeup? Wow, I thought that was bad ….”

“Honey, look at the bright side. It might speed up getting through customs when we travel. No one is going to want to look at that photo any longer than they have to.”

“You’re not going to show that to anyone, are you?”

“On second thought, it’s only $12.99, maybe you should get a do-over.”

“Wow, you need to go back and tell them their camera is seriously broken. No one could look that bad.”

I pulled out my current passport and showed him the picture. “I wish I could use this one again,” I said wistfully. “I do too,” he replied.

“Thanks a lot,” I said as I headed to the bathroom to put on some makeup. “You’re making me feel so bad I want to drink a beer to feel better.” His back was to me as he prepared the chicken for the grill. “You’d better drink a whole six pack,” were the words I heard floating over his shoulder. I’m glad someone is having a great time at my expense.

Later when I went downstairs I found him chopping wood for the fireplace. “I just came outside to make sure you hadn’t left me for someone better looking,” I laughed. He pretended to back away as I approached, then laughed. “Nah, you’re looking better now.” I smiled, knowing that ultimately this was nothing more than a good laugh and a funny story.

But right now, fresh off the heels of that mug shot, I’m glad we’re stuck. Otherwise the only traveling I could do using this passport would be on a one-way ticket to Ugly Island.