A four-letter word

I have always loved the word "Visa," as it conjures up images of a tiny little piece of plastic that can bring so much joy. It shares that life-altering ability with the American Express, Mastercard, and Discover card. It is, indeed, the closest thing we have in the modern world to a miracle. The Visa has come to my rescue so many times -- in times of despair, in times of need (like the 4-inch pink stilettos that were calling to me), and in times of desire.

Now, "Visa" is a curse word. I have been continuing to capitalize the word as I have been moaning about it in just about every email, text, and letter I have written as of recent. However, I realize that it is wrong for so many reasons. First of all, it is a common noun, so it is not deserved of a capital "V." More importantly, however, for no reason should it be given any special treatment, as it has shown us none. Whereas initially the visa process was exciting -- we got married so that we could begin it, for heaven's sake! -- it very quickly has lost its luster. Now, just the thought of it raises my blood pressure and makes my heart race.

Yesterday, at 8:00am, Matt and I sped through Georgetown, up Reservoir Road, and stood outside the French consulate patiently, nervous that once again we would be told to hit the road, Jack (and don't you come back). The visa would plague us once again.

"Mr. Benz and Miss Meeeler, please come forward." And just like that, we were stamped. As I look at the last page of my passport, it stares right back at me. I know that I should be elated that it is covered with my ticket to a life of wine, cheese, and glamour in Paris.

To me, however, "visa" will forever be a four-letter word.