PopPop's Makeunder is Complete!

Today we had to schlep to Abu Dhabi to finalize some paperwork for our residency visas (Abu Dhabi, as opposed to Dubai, because that's where Daddy's employer technically is). The process of obtaining visas had already been a tremendous headache-- Daddy applied for one back in mid-October 2008, and, because of bureaucratic holdups, he only just received it on January 10th--and now it had hit another snag: PopPop. Apparently, while it would be (relatively) easy to get my and the kids' visas approved, since we were Daddy's immediate family, PopPop presented a unique challenge. Daddy explained to us that we were going to have to establish a comprehensive narrative as to why PopPop was here in the first place ("part of the family" was too straightforward?), and then try to convince the government that, should PopPop be denied UAE residence, he would most definitely wither away in the United States, with no one to care for him and no food to eat. In other words, it would be crucial that he come off as weak and pathetic and hopeless and sad as possible before the immigration people.  (Hysterical, no?  I mean, this is the same guy who, just a few weeks ago, voluntarily plunged 95 feet straight down into a shark tank tunnel as part of Atlantis Dubai's much-dreaded "Leap of Faith" water slide.)  

And so began the great and temporary transformation of PopPop, in anticipation of today's appearance at the Abu Dhabi immigration offices.  With nothing more than a pair of phony oversized eyeglasses, an unfortunately styled shirt, and some argyle socks that were being stretched within an inch of their lives, he miraculously metamorphosed from a tattoo-bearing, iPod-wearing, muscle-shirted gym rat into a poorly-postured, pulled-up-socked, buttoned-up-collared, schlumpy, pathetic, frail old man.  See top photo, feel sad.

But alas, his embarrassment was not in vain (he dared not even go into "his" Starbucks dressed like that this morning, lest his mojo be impaired on a going-forward basis), and there is good news to report!  The youthful-looking sergeant person took pity on us (probably figuring that the old grump wouldn't be a resident *anywhere* for very much longer) and granted the exemption we needed for PopPop's visa to be approved. Barring one close call when we crossed paths with the sergeant after PopPop had already shed his Clark Kent disguise ("Hunch over!  Hunch over!"), Operation Metamucil was executed flawlessly.  Score yet another one for the good guys.