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It's 2:00 AM where I'm at. The only reason that I'm mentioning that is because it makes it awkward to write here. Mainly, how do I describe something that happened twelve hours ago? Technically, I could use the term yesterday, but yesterday implies that I've slept between now and then. I haven't. However, I'm a technically minded person, so when I say yesterday, I'm actually talking about events that are fresh on my mind without an interval of sleep between.

Anyway, yesterday, I went up to the DMV to get my license renewed. The only reason why I did is because it happens to be the cool thing to do after you turn twenty-one. I finally obtained my glasses which had to be replaced after my other pairs broke, got lost or got stolen. With my corrective lenses in my possession, I was finally able to take the eye exam and, therefore, get my license renewed.

The DMV is a funny place. The last time I was there (when I failed my eye test because I didn't have my glasses), I saw a sight that I felt like writing about on here. It involved two small children. One of them was a hispanohablante, and the other was an anglophone. Despite the language barrier, the two kids played and enjoyed their company. That sight just warmed the internationalisation advocate inside of myself.

However, all that happened the last time that I was at the DMV. I'm still awake at 2:00 AM because I wanted to write about my experience at the DMV this time… but I thought that you might appreciate my story about last time.

Anyway, I went into the DMV and the staff was behind on getting to their customers. Of course, that's what I get for coming in on a Friday. So, I did a bit of waiting around while waiting for my number to be called.

I don't know what it is about the DMV, but the people who come in all seem to be of a certain demographic: skanky dressers. I mean, from what I observe about society, skanky dressers are few and far between, but, at the DMV, it's most of the demographic that walks through the doors. Maybe I'm just overreacting about the amount of skin that I saw. It was a hot day in Colorado after all. Still, the outfits that these girls (I hesitate to call them women.) were wearing was enough to make this twenty-one-year-old, male hormone machine cringe in horror. I started to think to myself, are there any men who actually find such appearances to be attractive? Of course, I knew the answer to that. Someone somewhere does. Besides, if these sixteen-year-old, female hormone machines weren't attracting men, I'm sure that they'd change their ways.

So what? I went to the DMV and saw a bunch of skanks. Big deal! Well… someone else came in.

She was not a skank. No, she was an attractive female probably in her early twenties like myself. No, there was nothing incredibly stunning about her personal appearance herself. What did it was the way that she was dressed. She was wearing some sort of thin sweater over an undershirt along with a pair of decent blue jeans. It did look slightly awkward as it was a hot day, but the sandles installed on her feet did give it a slight summer touch. I couldn't help but think to myself about the contrast in dress between this classy woman and the skanks across the room. This woman was the absolute model in terms of how I would have every women in America (or any freedom-loving country where the women can show their faces in public) dress.

As is the custom there at the DMV, she had to wait for service just like everyone else. She took a seat right next to me. She pulled out a FedEx envelope and proceeded to look over some paperwork that consisted of important looking forms, documents and reports. Obviously, from the evidence that she knew how to live in the world, she didn't possess the trait of stupidity that the skanky dressers did. Of course, I'm wrong for saying that. Man looks on the outward appearance… Who knows? Those skanks might have been straight-A students. Still, it's hard for me to imagine a vault of intelligence inside of a Paris-Hilton-wannabe little girl complete with the valley-girl slang and the bra strap that happened to make its way completely down the shoulder in a careless manner that seemed to scream to the world, “Hey, look at me! I'm old enough to wear a bra!”.

I couldn't help but think about this classy woman sitting next to me: What should I do now? The thought came to my mind to say something, but what would I say? Somehow, it didn't seem right to compliment a complete stranger on her appearance. I thought to myself that maybe she and I would get along together. Again, the thought of asking a perfect stranger out on a date didn't seem right, but, the way that I see it, whoever it is that I end up marrying, we'll start out as perfect strangers.

However, it was a mute point. Her sitting to the right of me gave me an advantage that enabled me to know yet another important detail of this woman's life: she was married. Well, maybe she wasn't married, but she was at least engaged to another man. Well, maybe it wasn't a man. These are changing times that we're living in after all. Still, regardless of her orientation, her marital status completely told me that it wasn't going to happen. With that, I simply waited around for my number to be called so that I could have my picture taken and receive my license which was nothing more than a slip of paper telling the officer that will be pulling me over that my license is in the mail and will come to me in less than thirty days.

Then, she left. She had completed her business at the DMV before I had completed mine. So, she was out the door and back into the world that we all inhabit — skanky dressers and classy dressers alike.

I wonder, if there wasn't a large rock on her finger (and it was large), would I have had the courage to start up a casual conversation with a complete stranger and have it end in a dinner proposal? The answer is no. I'm broke and ugly. Sure, I was dressed classy myself, but being unshaved and in need of a haircut (despite the fact that I'm going bald, and it's the end of Western civilisation as we know it because I'm going bald), let's just say that I didn't look my best yesterday. Plus, that's a real shame because that's the way that I'm going to look for the next ten or so years on the portrait on my license which means that cops pulling me over while driving or bartenders inquiring about my age while boozing won't be getting a good impression of me unless they're the types that don't look at appearance.