So I’m a smart person, I know that, and I should be able to handle everyday life. Right? Right. Okay. So I have to register my dad’s car in NYC, and I’ve printed out a rainforest’s worth of paper from the DMV site, and I still don’t understand just what I have to do, and I just know I’m going to be in a long line and some bored, totally over it desk person is going to tell me I didn’t bring the right stuff. It’s giving me agita even now, thinking about it.

But the car’s registration–shhh!–is expired in Massachusetts, and I want to get NY tags for it, so we’re all done and proper. It’s the car my dad won, so even if it weren’t, like, A CAR! I would have to keep it.

The car still smells like Dad, his truck (which my uncle has) even moreso, I bet. And all his clocks were set 11 minutes fast, so I am keeping the car’s clock set to that time.

The only comfort I can take from all this anxiety is that Dad was even worse about paperwork and bureaucracy and the like. Have I ever mentioned my parents had some serious issues with filing taxes? Yeah. Like that. So I take after him in more ways than the crinkly, almond-shaped eyes, flat feet and love of words.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 23rd, 2008 at 7:37 pm and is filed under Dad, Megan Cries In Her W(h)ine. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.