In 1999 I slipped down the rabbit hole and entered a new wonderland of immigration. Even though millions of people inhabit this world guided by millions of lawyers, you never know whether the furniture is going to tower over you, or if the door will be too tiny to pass through, whether you should “drink me,” or if the Queen will have you beheaded.

I started applying for my Green Card in April 2003. (Remember this date—it’s now my official Preference Date.) It’s a three-step process from which one might never recover. In early 2006, after three years of silence, I finally heard that they were sending my file to the Backlog Processing Center. Where else?

Not long after, I got a notice through the mail one Saturday afternoon, which was difficult to interpret, but turned out to be the critical approval of the first step. It induced exhaustion and weeping. And I heard from my lawyer that I was lucky—the Backlog Processing Center had lost thousands of files and was telling those applicants they had to start all over again. I can’t imagine. I’m glad I got through that doorway unharmed.

I could now apply for Step Two, which turned out to be a simple administrative procedure. The way was now open to the ultimate Step Three—adjustment of status to permanent residency.

Well, not quite open. You can only apply for Step Three when your Preference Date comes up. So, in January when Step Two was complete, the door was only open for those with a Preference Date of August 2002 or earlier, and it had been stuck there for a while, and every month I checked, but nothing changed. Then in April, it jumped forward from August 2002 to August 2003. Hurrah! I could submit my application, although my lawyer warned me that at a whim they can suddenly go backwards and close the window.

The final green card application is nothing if not entertaining. It involves inevitable form-filling and the ritual submission of hideous passport photos, of which I now have quite a gallery. The applicant is also obliged to complete a medical examination.

I picked one of the approved doctors randomly off the list and found myself in a practice that had not been redecorated since 1971 with doctors who had been practicing since 1791. Yes, I was being examined by the oldest doctor in the world, who has built his retirement practice around immigration medical exams. I was duly tested for TB, AIDS, and Syphilis and got vaccinations for Tetanus, Diptheria and (surprisingly, I thought) Measles, Mumps, and Rubella. I am now a fortress.

I can only hope and presume that he didn’t put me down for any of the Class A Conditions listed on the form—the humble applicant doesn’t get to see the completed assessment although they are nice enough to tell you your results for TB, AIDS and Syphilis. Class A conditions would include Chronic Alcoholism, Gonorrhea, Insanity, Mental Defect, Mental Retardation, Narcotic Drug Addiction, Psychopathic Personality, and Sexual Deviation. I guess I’ll find out what he thought when they approve or decline my application.

Even more fun is the all-important Form I-485. The natural questions about birthplace, date, and employment are dwarfed by a final page of intense probing.

Drug offenses and moral turpitude: bad. Traffic violations: ok. Exercising diplomatic immunity to avoid prosecution: bad. But, if traffic violations are ok, presumably the diplomats will never be held accountable for all those parking tickets in New York?

Have I ever or do I intend to pimp or prostitute? Not unless I fall on really hard times. I said no to illegal gambling. (Do those poker games in the kitchen count?) Nor have I aided or abetted illegal immigration—in fact, I’ve done what I can to help others understand the process and recommended lawyers on numerous occasions.

Next comes sabotage, kidnapping, political assassination, hijacking and other terrorist activity. Does sabotaging one’s own relationship count? I confess I was momentarily horrified and excited when I thought Margaret Thatcher had been killed in the Brighton Bomb, but that’s as close as I’ve gotten.

Do I intend to engage in espionage? At this point I imagine all the Russian spies throwing down their pens in despair. “I spent all this money on lawyers and now they tell me I can’t work!” The unlawful opposition of or attempt to control the government of the United States? I’m just too busy right now. Export sensitive information? I think it’s already on the web.

Member of the Communist Party or any other totalitarian party? I let my GOP membership lapse. Nazi criminal? Too young, but I’m glad they’re asking. Genocide? Another question I can get behind.

Then they get really personal. Have you ever left the U.S. to avoid the draft? No, but the way things are going I may have to. Withholding custody of an American child? Thankfully not.

And then comes the kicker, which may forever exclude me from permanent residency.

Do you plan to practice polygamy in the United States? Hell, yes!