Immi-grating

Most of you probably aren't aware of this, but Pegs walked out on me and Sofia this morning. That's right. She packed up her bags last night and slipped out while Sofia was taking her nap to catch a plane to Philadelphia to stay with her sister. It's been really hard for me to bear, but fortunately I'm incredibly stoic, self-confident and naturally smell of lavender and plush leather. More than anything, though, I'm comforted in knowing that Pegs is coming back on Monday morning once she's straightened out all of this immigration BS.

You see, Pegs isn't a real American: she's one of them Canadian types from up north somewhere, like Kentucky. I know it's hard to believe; I didn't want to admit it was true for the first few years we were together. But I finally saw past her Canuck roots, her elongated "ou"s and her heavily enunciated "t"s and married her anyway. And even though she could easily get US citizenship now that we're married, for some reason she doesn't want to be nationalized in any country that would elect, and I quote, "a hairless ape like Dubya" as president.

Aside from some interesting tax complications, the fact that she's a communist, I mean a Canadian, isn't that big of a deal on a daily basis, but the last time she went to the US, they almost didn't let her in the country. You see, there's a little rule that says that green card holders aren't allowed to leave the country for more than six months at a time without the necessary paperwork, which of course we hadn't filled out. In order to keep her green card, Pegs had to schedule an interview with the US immigration services to have her biometrics taken. As it turns out, the only place where she could have this done is Philadelphia, since apparently none of the US consulates in Europe are connected to the immigration database.

So now Sofia and I are hanging out on our own this weekend while Pegs gets detected, inspected, injected and selected. Fortunately, Octavie come into town to help babysit so I can do some work from home, but it hasn't been easy thus far. Apparently Sofia needs to eat, like, three times a day. And she poops a TON. Oh, and she screams whenever she's not being held. This is going to be such a sweet weekend.