If that's my real name

Yeah, so those of you who know me in real life, I have news for you. You didn't really know me at. all. Not even my real name.

I finally went to the social security office yesterday and officially took my husband's name. That's right, after nine years, I'm starting to think this whole marriage thing may last, so I took the final step.

I know what you're thinking . . . "Becky, you don't look old enough to have been married nine years! That must be a typo!" And then after that, you'll probably think, "Wait. I thought you and David had the same last name already?" Alas, you are mistaken.

When we got married in 2000, I immediately went to the DMV and got a new driver's license with my alleged new name. They handed it right over. Well, actually, they took quite a bit of my hard-earned law clerk wage for it and made me sit for an hour and a half next to some woman with awful B.O. and approximately 63 tattoos on her neck, whom I'm pretty sure is now busy making license plates for the vehicle I'm driving with said license, THEN they handed it over.

But, for some reason, that was as far as I got. So, for nine years I've had a driver's license with David's last name, a checking account with said name, a couple of bar cards (which enable me to practice law, not evade a cover charge) with said name, and even a few children with said name. But, according to the Internal Revenue Service - and since when could they be wrong? - that is not my name.

At least it wasn't until yesterday. Yesterday I went to the social security office, waited 30 minutes for my number to be called, and then handed the lady at the window a copy of my marriage certificate. It took at least four whole minutes. Seriously.

Now you know why it took me nine years.