Why is it that when I am in Italy the government officials tell me that I need to get documents from Canada and when I am in Canada the officials tell me I have to get my documents in Italy?
Let me start at the beginning…14 years ago I changed my name after my first marriage. When I got divorced I didn’t bother with the hassle of changing it back to my original name because I liked Armstrong and my ex and I had an amicable split.
Now that I am married again, my new husband doesn’t know me by any other name and so it just makes sense to continue on as before. Only after we registered our marriage with the Italian government did this start to become a roller coaster ride of red tape and rings of fire to jump through.
It seems that Italian women never change their name after marriage. So now I have the fun task of proving that I am the same person with 2 different last names. So after ordering old marriage certificates and spending half a day getting legal testimonies from my lawyer I figured I was all set.
With all my Canadian ducks in a row, I made the morning trip to the Italian Consulate in Canada. This is where my sense of humour has served me well because had I not just had a Tim Horton’s tea and maple donut moments earlier, I would no doubt be in prison right now singing my old standby tune “O Solo Mio”
The gal at the Consulate didn’t know what to do with my precious documents and innocently enough I suppose, suggested that I should just change my name back! I was so tempted to put on my best blond impression, slap my forehead in frustration and say “gee, why didn’t I think of that?” Meanwhile, in my mind I was thinking listen you stupid (insert nasty word here), I am not an idiot and if I WANTED to change my name back then I would have already!
So now I have a 7 page legal document that has been Notorized by the Italian Consulate and needs translating. I will say a small prayer when I get back to Italy that some stupid government employee will not tell me that I need to go back to Canada to get it registered because otherwise I may need to say a prayer that the food in Italian prison’s are as good as mama’s cooking!