Bless Your Heart

So yesterday we went for our fingerprint appointment. For those of you who don’t know, the Department of Homeland Security or Immigration or maybe the combination of the two, who knows, they make you get fingerprinted before you can bring a foreigner into the country as your child. And your fingerprints are only valid for 15 months. Cause you know, adoptive parents are all about burning off our prints. Anyway, our appointment was for 8am on the south side of Charlotte. We live approx. 45 minutes from there on a good day with no traffic. So we had to leave at the crrrrack to get there on time. The office is kind of like a DMV office. We stood in line, filled out our form, stood in another line, then got our little number. We took our seats to wait.
Then I had to pee. There was a bathroom in the office but when I went to get up CSP told me to “suck it in” and hold it. Nice. I tried. I was number 53 and they were on 51 when I couldn’t take it anymore. But they were taking at least 5 minutes per number so I was totally safe. I left CSP with my purse (a cute, springy, striped Kate Spade knockoff. CSP hates cute, springy, & stripes. And purses. And the general public.) and I made a mad dash for the bathroom. I sped peed and sped washed my hands. When I opened the door and looked to our chairs CSP was gone. Wha?? Then I saw him. All 6 feet and 4 inches lumbering toward me with a look of embarrassment and annoyance on his face, holding my purse like it was a bag of steaming poo- all up in front of him at chest level.
Apparently this is what happened in the 2 minutes (tops!) that I was indisposed: they called my number. So CSP went up to the guy and told him I was in the rest room and he would come get me. He got halfway there when they called his number. So he spun around and told the little guy that he was 54 but he was still on his retrieve wife from potty mission. He was halfway back to the bathroom when I came out. THANK GOD. And you know those DMVish workers- great senses of humor and bubbling personalities.
So the fingerprint guy started processing me then some other dude started on Jon a few moments later. Then Jon was gone. And I’m still there. My left pinkie was causing some problems. They don’t use ink like you’d think. They have these cool scanny machines. I ended up with my wedding rings off and all kinds of twisted before I could get a good print. The whole time I’m of course asking all about the machine and what not and the little guy is asking about the adoption. Then there was the customer service survey to complete. By the time I made my way over to CSP he was so ready to get out of there I thought I’d have to change my adoption application to single parent. As we got in the car CSP asked “Why does everything with you have to be such a production?”. Pishaw. Like he’d want it any other way.