When Your Claim to Fame Involves the DMV


Let’s talk driver’s license photos, shall we?

Note: Oleander, you knew this was coming.

I love to talk about my driver’s license photo. In fact, when a cashier asks to see my photo ID, I pull it out, almost gleefully.

No, let’s make that actually gleefully.



Because, look:


Holy Moses, I am a Goddess!


Right? What is happening here, people? This is the DMV! When did the DMV become a veritable Sears Portrait Studio? I even suggested to the photo-taking employee that she should consider a position at Glamour Shots. (Please tell me that place still exists. Or is it now just a sultry, dimly-lit corner of the bedroom and an iPhone?)

So, I get lots of responses to my photo, mainly because of my gleefulness, ranging from “Wow, that’s a really great photo!” to “Wow, that doesn’t even look like you!”

Note: Heck, yes it looks like me.

But a few days ago in the Pharmacy refill line, the tall, somewhat big-bellied, 50ish gentleman behind the counter asked for my ID.

I gleefully produced it.

He looked at my ID. He looked at me. And then he ruined it. He ruined my gleefulness with two words.

Well, technically one word, repeated twice, with a little bit of sweat on his brow.

“Hubba Hubba.”

Hubba Hubba? Is this what single women in my age group deal with? Is this where years of self-help and empowerment and breaking barriers has brought the fiftyish woman? Hubba Hubba?


Note: Oh dear. I think I may have just died a little inside.


Hey! Let’s have a little fun.  Run on over to our Bacon and Oleander Facebook Page and post your own Driver’s License photo! (with personal information removed, of course!) Maybe I’ll even give you a little Hubba Hubba of your own …