It’s been an interesting journey. It began with more forms than I had ink in my pen and continued with a mad chase around London at 5am and then a doorstep wait for a visa that didn’t want to come. Once past the airport authorities, with their rubber gloves (not for me, thankfully, though I did nearly suffer a heart attack), it involved a pile of forms tall enough to serve as an excellent bedside table, two requests for more information that was really the same information, a visit to a doctor called Adolfo who kept asking to see my legs and was convinced I had tuberculosis for no reason, and a flustered biometrics official who locked herself out of her computer and then sprayed me with Windex.
But finally, last Thursday, we came to the final leg, and it was the most pleasant experience of them all. It wasn’t the terrifying interview you see on the movies, in which the immigrant is escorted in an arm lock to the plane if she is unsure what colour socks her new husband is wearing. Instead, we were invited in early, smiled at often, thanked for providing a nice, tidy batch of evidence (including several print-outs of this very blog) and on our way back to the hotel within 15 minutes. Bliss.
Plus we had the opportunity for a road trip, because the interview – naturally – was halfway across the state. Again, an absolute pleasure. The hotel turned out to be 100 yards from where we needed to go and pretty darned comfortable to boot; they even gave us a lift in the morning, because we couldn’t find any parking. After a cheeky trip to the mall and the wolfing down of a pizza on the way back, we snuggled up to watch telly until it was time for bed.
Talking of pizza, we were somewhat concerned it might scupper us, as we’re both a bit addicted and it tends to be the boiled-down answer to every question. For example: “What did you do on your birthday?” “Pizza.” “What did you do to celebrate your first anniversary?” “We’ve only had a six month anniversary, we had pizza.” “What did you do on Valentine’s Day?” “Pizza.”
The interview might not have gone quite so smoothly had they not been satisfied enough with our evidence to believe we’re a proper couple, let’s put it that way. The only thing that went wrong during the entire trip, however, was the passing of the longest and slowest and loudest train in the world, 20 feet behind our room, just as we were going to bed. It made “eeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEscreeeeech… ding ding ding ding ding” noises for an hour and a half. During which Hubby managed to fall asleep, and began snoring. Following which, at 6am, the previous occupant’s alarm went off. My own private cocophony, how lovely.
But, stumbling blocks aside, in six weeks’ time, I should be receiving official word that I am now a citizen of the US of A. The journey is finally over!