Where, Oh Where, Could My License Be?

I lost my driver license. (No, I didn't make a mistake--it's "driver license.")

My husband brought home our one vehicle early enough for me to take four of the kids to Wal Mart yesterday. After seriously contemplating every item in the store for hours, I loaded up the carts Beverly Hillbillies style, and headed for the checkout lanes. When everything was totaled up, I swiped my credit card (because we get points for using it and my husband would use it on a gumball machine, if he could) and the cashier asked to see my card and driver license.

Now I'm one of those people who has a specific place for everything (some day I'll detail what's in my purse). It's out of necessity. I don't have time to go scouring my house, car, or purse for something that I need right away. Imagine my surprise when I reached into my purse to retrieve my license and it wasn't there. The line behind me started to grow as I started calmly looking in every nook and cranny of my bag. Before I was done, I had turned it upside down and started shaking out the contents over that tiny little check writing shelf. My license wasn't in there. I had to use my debit card with no points. My son, the one with the driver permit (is the DMV allergic to apostrophe 's', or what?), had to take us home. He was proud that his expert driving skills, finally, had proven useful.

With one car lately, it's not like I can go anywhere. I haven't had much opportunity to lose my license. When I drove the van last time, I made a dangerous manuever while I was handing the baby a snack quick stop and my purse flew off the seat. So, today I plan to strap on the hazardous materials suit and ransack my 12-seater from front to back. I may find a month-old chicken patty, a dozen broken toys that need super gluing, seven ripped books that could use packing tape, one smelly sock, a full porta- potty (my daughter has never seen the inside of a public restroom), thirteen jackets (there's only nine of us), chewed gum, melted candy, crayons, trash, and some completely unidentifiable objects (that probably smell bad). And I just hope that I find my license.

Being bummed about possibly having to visit the DMV, wait three hours (I'm not exaggerating about the one in Temecula), take a new picture, and pay money, I also started to think about all of the things that I can't do now that I have no proper form of ID (it's my only picture ID unless you count the Costco card with my face rubbed off):

~Buy a house and obtain a loan--cause you know I have the money to do this now

~Go to Vegas--I thought a walk along the Strip would be good exercise for the kids

~Frequent the clubs where all the celebs hang out

~Get a job--like I don't have 20 already

~Take a plane ride--you'd have to knock me out first

~Get a lager at Killarney's Restaurant and Irish Pub

~Rent a car

~Go on a cruise

~Cash a check

~Take a test drive

~Rent a paddle boat

~Get a fishing license

So, if any of you local readers find a driver license with a picture of a blond-haired, blue-eyed, 5'7", 120 pound woman on it, it's not mine. But if she has the same initials, I'll take it!