Thousand-yard stare

I started my day standing in a puddle of premium Chardonnay.

Funny, that’s how I usually end my day. *cymbals*

Guy would have paid good money to watch me in the kitchen this morning. I tried to get a huge juice container into the door of the fridge, decided it was too tight, pulled it out again, and the drawer, milk and a bottle of wine crashed with the shelf. The cork flew across the kitchen and about 250ml of premium chardonnay glugged out. I was standing in a lake. So I sopped it up with paper towels, mopped, and took out the trash. Thank God I’d already (I mean the elves had already) broken down all the boxes five minutes earlier. There were stacks of boxes piling up from all the clothes pouring in. Between the wedding and my son going on a class trip to DC, the UPS guy either loves me or has a dartboard with my address on it.

In the garage on the way to the bins, I almost walked into the open refrigerator door, and stepped into another puddle. Melted ice this time. ARGH. So I topped everything off with chicken breasts, pizza rolls, dino nuggets, chinese food, and two soy pizzas, and dumped that too.

Right about then, Guy’s boys showed up to drop off Valentines. So, yeah, hey, that was me, in pajamas, hair in a frenzy, smelling of booze.

And then? After everything was broken down, mopped, wiped, and put away? I realized that I’d just thrown out the only good boxes I had, and needed one to return some boxers. Don’t worry hon, they’re not yours. Wait—that sounded wrong—they were meant for other guys. MY GUYS. My boys! My boys wear boxers. Apparently there is a quite a size difference between Youth M and Adult M, so they have to go back. They’d actually fit you…which makes me really glad I’m getting that out of the way before you come home and find six pair of mens boxers on the stairs.

Um, I have to go now.

Going to the… well, minister, anyway

Guy and I are just getting ready to go meet the minister for coffee to get to know each other and talk about ceremony preferences, etc.

Guy asked, “So what kind of ceremony do you want?”

I replied, “Buddhist.”

“Okay. I don’t care. As long as we say I do at the end, I’m cool.”

“Oh! We should leave in all the stuff about honoring and obeying and giving the woman away just to mess with my Mom. See if we can raise some hackles.”

“Oh dear God.”

“Do you promise to obey, without question and without ‘tone’, everything your husband asks?”

“Do you promise to surrender unto him his marital rights whenever he shall choose to demand them?”

“Will you promise to sign everything he shall put to you? In Sharpie? ”

“We could take bets on how long before she launches herself at me in a full body tackle and wrenches the ring back.”

“We should invite my ex and leave in the question about anyone objecting.”

“Yeah, but right before that, make sure to make mention of all your worldly goods.”

“You know she won’t say anything out loud, but we should pause really long, just to give her time.”

“We could sit down for a minute, chat with the kids.”

“Oh, the kids. ‘Will you surrender until him your children, their education and discipline, and rights, until they come of age?’ That should get another linebacker going.”

“Will you get in the car? We’re going to be late!”

“Only if you promise we can get a burrito on the way home. Will you put something in there about having monthly Andale runs?”

“Too far.”