Fingerprints. Again.

Tuesday Steve and I went to have my fingerprints taken (and we heard this morning that they were accepted! Yay!). Steve accompanied me, because I'm no good at fighting for my rights, which is how I ended up with the worst fingerprints ever last time. I knew the very young woman taking them was doing them wrong as she did them, but I didn't say anything because I'm non-confrontational. Instead, I thanked her kindly for them and offered her one of my kidneys. We took the prints to church to show them to a police officer friend who confirmed that yes, they were totally rubbish and eventually he was instrumental in getting us our Tuesday appointment with an actual professional, adult, fingerprint guy.

The rubbish fingerprint taker was at our Tuesday appointment. She and Steve were chatting while my prints were being taken by the police guy and at one point I heard Steve pull out some papers and say, “These are the last set of prints we got,” at which point I began using all my mental, spouse communication powers to telegraph to him the message that he was speaking to the person who took those prints and to refrain from commenting on them. I felt like that guy in O Brother, Where Art Thou hissing, “Do not. Seek. the Treasure,” which I would have hissed at Steve except that he's not very keen on movies and has resisted seeing that one and wouldn't have gotten the reference even though he has high praise for a certain talking dog and cat film, leading me to believe that he cannot really be that picky about what he watches.

Then I sent the fingerprints by express courier service to the US, which is stinkin' expensive and cost me my other kidney. If we finally get the paperwork back and have the opportunity to send our actual immigration forms express to North America, I might have to offer joint custody of Baby McBaby as payment.