Behold: Betty

I know we've had all year to prepare for the immigration appointment. Gather this and that in various pseudo-organized piles around the apartment. Compile it into a big-ass notebook neatly. Get signed what they want signed. Show up. Smile. I'm pretty sure I'm prepared. Except for the smiling part.

Maybe it's because I've still got that pesky little interrogation and search I had to endure at customs in June. Or maybe it's because I just hate being under a microscope, having to somehow prove I am genuine in doing what I am doing. Nevertheless, it's a process I knew we'd have to go through and the time is here. Tomorrow.

So we'll be waking up and getting dressed. I will be wearing pants for probably the fifth time since I've been here in about ninety-degree morning humidity. And we'll be taking Betty with us. Betty? Betty is the four-pound compilation of our years together. And all I gotta say is she better come through, because, while I miss the U.S. very much, it's not time to go back yet.

Meet Betty.