Schmugelgugski

Those who have known me awhile remember my old last name. They probably couldn't spell it, but they recall many consonants and my years of suffering in school. It's comforting to know that I can overcome anything, because I overcame that last name.

For the purposes of this story, we'll say it was Schmugelgugski. It might as well have been. A few years back I trucked down to the courthouse and legally changed it to something simple and plain that can't possibly be mispronounced. I've been noticeably happier ever since.

Yesterday I dug through a few cobwebby places to find my passport, as I am going to Mexico in two and a half weeks. I found it and was surprised at my boy haircut in the photo. It was really short. I brought it to DeeHo for a laugh.

And laugh she did. She said I looked better with longer hair. She continued to look at the passport and laughed again. "Schmugelgugski," she said with a giggle. Boy, am I glad to be rid of that name. I laughed too.

But... she was reading my passport! Which had my old last name! Which means I have two and a half weeks to change my passport! Oh, brother.

If it weren't for the boy hair and one eagle-eyed roommate, the first person to realize my passport name didn't match my ticket would have been the security checker at the airport. And the only Spanish I'd be speaking is, "Necesito tequila, por favor."