I was standing in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. My French Bulldog, Dozer, sprinted to the door, displaying his ferocity with a vociferous bark. When I looked out the window and saw the FedEx delivery man walking away, I thought, "Could it be? Is my visa finally here?"
I hesitantly opened the door and spied the pre-paid envelope that I left at the French Consulate for the return of my passport. In a haze of anxious anticipation, I ripped open the envelope and dumped out the passport with blatant disregard of its safety. I flipped to the visa pages, and there it was. My visa had arrived, complete with a picture that makes me look like a haggard frequent flier on some sort of narcotic. Regardless, I breathed a loud sigh of relief. Thankfully, my nightmares of being arrested by the French police because of a case of mistaken identity or flaw in my background check have yet to be fulfilled (and let's hope it stays that way. I've seen way too many movies).
Anyways, the moral of this overly descriptive story is this: don't freak out about the French police. Oh, and also, getting a visa isn't that big of a deal. My overly active imagination created a paranoia that rivaled the Red Scare, when I had nothing to worry about. Thus, the last step of my preparation (besides packing) is complete!
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