Why my ex is ex

It is probably way unkosher to write about one's ex and how relieved one is that one's ex is one's ex, but since this is for the discerning and carefully chosen reader only...
This afternoon we met at the post office to renew the children's passports. Both parents and the children have to be physically present and we had divided up preparation tasks. He was to download and fill out forms and I to bring relevant documents and pictures. Catherine was horrified that she was required to come - she finds being anywhere in public with her dad a trial. Being with me is only marginally more acceptable. As we waited, he was finishing the forms (mild irritation: "why aren't they done?"). Whoops, he exclaimed "I wrote in Catherine's frequent flyer number instead of her SSN." Sam observed that there was white out on the desk. Dad looks over and does not see it, because it comes in a form that he hasn't (or purports not to have) seen before. It was one of the pen types. Catherine rolled her eyes at his backwardness. Dad made the change. He asked me to look the forms over and I pointed out that on hers he had written the birthdate as day-month rather than month-day. Back to the white out. C has retreated to a chair in the corner with her ipod and phone. God only knows what she is texting about this whole scene. I can feel myself spacing out - "get me out of here is screaming through my head." He jokingly says to her "May 14th right?" I think that he is trying to joke with her about the time two years ago when he was absolutely certain that this was her birthdate. Huge residual rush of irritation. I mean who misremembers their own child's birthdate? He finishes with the forms and asks me again to look them over. He has written her birthdate as May 14th and once again in the day month order. (irritation approaching warp factor). Back to the white out. By this point the pen version won't work so the guy behind the counter gives us the old fashioned kind. Dad adds more to the now hugely raised area and waits for it to dry. He suggests I sign the forms. Have to point out that it says in bold print: DO NOT SIGN UNTIL IN THE PRESENCE OF THE CLERK WHO WILL ASK YOU TO SWEAR TO THE ACCURACY OF THE INFORMATION (or some such). Of course he has already signed... (more irritation). Finally it is our turn. Globs of white out have finally dried and he starts to write in the birthdate, once again beginning with the day. I can't help myself and squawk in frustration "not the day first again." I sound like some shrewish, overbearing nag. The whole process takes quite a long time as the clerk is one of those functionairies who doesn't have much of a sense of humor but tries the occasional joke. I can feel my stress level rising as the interaction between these two males lurches along. Comes time to pay and the clerk lists our options: cash, check, debit card, credit card - although this last with a limit on the amount so we can't pay the whole thing that way. Ex is flummoxed by options. We are going to split it and I pull out my debit card; "do you have a debit card?" I ask. "yes, but I don't know if it will work here." More irritation. Why the hell wouldn't it "work here"? have to explain that of course it will work here, and it does. There is nothing easy or comfortable about the situation. Finally we are finished and when we get home I lie down on my bed and pass out for an hour and a half. I do not know how I navigated life with that man for so many years.