This dreary weather is not helping me deal with my post-weekend blues. Not one bit. According to the media, Armageddon is approaching today, and should have been here at 9am in the form of driving winds, torrential rain and flash flooding.
It was the talk of the town this morning at the chemist, as all the elderly folk stood in line for their fix, clutching their pearls and chitter chatting about how they had to get up early to get their jobs done before Armageddon hit.
I am facing my own personal Armageddon this week.
You see, we Woogs are off on a little overseas jaunt next month to escape the winter for a bit. I asked Mr Woog to dig out the passports.
Why don't I have access to the passports?
I will tell you why. Because about 9 years ago, an incident so stressful and terrible occurred that I have been relieved of all passport responsibilities.
My beloved and I decided to take our 6 month old son to Bali as a tonic for the shock that we were going through as new parents.
Our flight was via Melbourne, which we were required to leave the plane and re-board an hour later.
When the boarding call came through, we lined up to get on the plane. I reached for the passports and they were no longer on my person.
Panic Stations were activated.
Announcements went out through the airports. I back tracked all my airport destinations, the latrine, the news agency, the coffee shop. But nothing.
The whole aircraft had boarded and I sat sobbing in the departure lounge. A kind airline host was holding and playing with Baby Harry as Mr Woog looked out the window at the baggage handlers removing the bags.
But they could not find the stroller.
It is illegal to take off with unaccompanied baggage unless it is freight so that stroller bought us time. And during that time, a cabin crew member came bursting out of the plane clutching 3 passports that had slipped out of my handbag in the overhead storage above our seats.
I was beside myself! I hugged everyone and through my tears of gratitude told them all how much I loved them. Mr Woog's storm cloud lifted. A slow clap began from the departure lounge as triumphantly I boarded that bloody plane.
Now, if you have never experienced stepping onto a packed plane that had been waiting for an hour for you to sort your shit out, while holding a baby, let me give you the hot tip.
EVERYBODY HATES YOU.
And I couldn't blame them one little bit.
I slunk and slid into my seat, apologised to everyone around me and spent the next 7 hours with my tail between my legs. Holding a squirmy baby who went on to get the trots. Punishment, right there.
This incident alone is why I am not allowed to be in charge of passports. Apart from today.
Jack's passport has expired, thankfully I checked it this morning. I have 2 weeks to sort this shit out. And if you have ever applied for a child's passport you will know exactly what I mean.
My own Armageddon at the Post Office.
Have you ever had a passport shocker?
