Fume

The big huge drama in life right now is that apparently the passport agency can’t process the idea that a man would change his name upon marrying just like millions of women do every day.

They have no problem with the fact that I changed my name last year after I walked down the aisle, but the fact that Matt did too (we both took his mother’s maiden name) is quite beyond their ken. Now, I know this isn’t a common practice, but, really, it isn’t so different from when a guy hyphenates his name upon getting married. Smith-Jones is a different name than Smith. We started out as Smith and Jones, and now we are both McGillicuddy (names have, in fact been changed).

So although I (the girl) just need to demurely present proof of my matrimonial status and get patted on the head and pinched on the ass as I walk away with my shiny new passport, he has to present his most recent electric bill, last year’s dry cleaning ticket stubs, recite the starting line-up of the 1978 Yankees, and — oh yeah — cough up 200 bucks.

Stupid-ass discrimination, anyone?

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