Tuesday, April 06, 2010

The Crushing of the Spirit
After the Easter Monday debacle, we get up again at the crack of dawn (T admiring her new earrings) and schlep back up to the Upper East Side to plead our case at the next step up the ladder of bureaucracy. We now have signed and notarized letters of support from our mothers--in so many ways this is like the degrading process of trying to rent an apartment in Manhattan

During our tearful exit last week, the security guard has said that we might have a better chance with the nice supervisor. Freshly tanned in that pre-cancerous Italian way from her vacation, the "nice" supervisor is perhaps not so nice, explaining firmly that we are far too young to get the visto per residenza elettiva. In her interpretation of the rules, this is only meant for retirees. We beg and plead and weep, appealing to her that we only want to make a better life for T.

Our grovelling only gets the slightest of possible bending. She will speak to the Vice-Consul about it and have her call us, but she is certain the answer will be no. We leave like three of the rejected dwarfs--rumpled, dispirited, and weepy.

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