Had to replace my driver's license again. I count six times in my life that I have had to get a new one due to losing my wallet.

Losing my wallet is my single, greatest talent, next to blowing up a balloon with just my nose. This was the first time I have used the Department of Motor Vehicles inside the Braelinn Village Kroger in Peachtree City.

All DMVs should be inside grocery stores. Or better yet, put grocery stores inside the DMVs. The clerks behind the counter could hardly be rude to you if you offered to share some of your grocery treats. Who could be discourteous if you asked, "Want a bite of my Twinkie?"

Technically, I don't think the little faux-toll booth in the Kroger is a Department of Motor Vehicles. I think it might be better titled, "Driver's License Renewal Station." What I like about the DLRS is, it's manned by a real, bona fide Georgia State Trooper.

Hmm, this has to be the punishment assignment for these guys and girls. "Let me see, which would I rather do, drive 100 mph and catch speeding motorists or fill out forms while watching 1,500 women a day reading the National Enquirer while standing in line?" You won't see this TV Special on Fox: "World's Scariest Police Eye Exams!"

Actually consolidating a grocery store with a Driver's License Bureau could be a handy idea if done right. You could use "double your money" coupons to pay off traffic violations. For instance, for jaywalking you could use Dr. Scholl's coupons. For turn signal violations you could use Geritol coupons... Speeding you could use Ex-Lax coupons... Running a stop sign? Bran Flakes. Double parking? Kaopectate. Striking a pedestrian in a crosswalk? Lucky Charms, (you're gonna need 'em).

The officer was so impressed with my ideas that he deputized me on the spot. I was awarded a glue gun and holster, and for the lack of a deputy badge he adorned me with a panty shield.

The grocery store could adopt some law enforcement ideas, too. Instead of announcing, "Irv, cleanup in aisle seven," they could replace it with the more official sounding, "One-Adam 12, spill in progress, perpetrator is white, nervous female with home pregnancy test."

Obviously these are the fantasies I was having while I was waiting in line to replace my lost license. After finally reaching the counter, I completed the form, read off some letters and had my picture taken.

The photograph took a little while as the cop had trouble locating the "Sloppy, Fat and Dorky" filter for the camera. I actually prefer it over the "Hey, look! There's a bug on the ceiling," lens. At least I wasn't like the poor schlub in front of me who forget to put down his 12-pack of Coors before taking his picture.

Luckily for me they have those new machines that print the driver's license while you wait. In my way of figuring, that gives me a whole extra two-week start on losing my next one.