I’m trying to get motivated to get my house ready to show. In a fit of misplaced optimism I emailed the folks with whom we have the contingent contract. Because maybe they sold their house and just forgot to tell me! And they would open my email and smack their foreheads and immediately mail back, “Mir! No, don’t worry about cleaning your house! We’re all set!”
Instead, I got back some mail that not only spoke of their frustration in still not having sold their house, it said something about how this is a “very unfortunate situation for all involved” and I had to go back and reread to make sure that no one had died. (I concluded that no one had, but that my buyers may be even more melodramatic than I am.)
So, it looks like I have to finish painting and, um, burn everything we own.
In the meantime, I’ve started getting serious about figuring out the wedding stuff. Otto and I did a bunch of planning while we were down there, and things are definitely underway.
Like, um, we’ve almost set a date. If only I could remember to call my pastor and ask him if he’s free then, we’d be all set.
And, I bought a dress. Which I already told you about, and then you all left a zillion comments because when I write about gut-wrenching issues with my children, a few people offer their input, but when I mention I need guidance on my cleavage, you are ALL there for me. It brings a little tear to my eye, truly.
After taking all of your excellent advice into account, I went ahead and ordered one of these. We’ll see how it is. But I couldn’t stomach the idea of putting sticky things on my boobs on purpose, and the design of the dress is such that sewn-in cups didn’t seem quite right, so we’ll see how this is. If it doesn’t work, at least I’ll have an interesting story to tell about that time I bought the funny Australian bra.
And then I had to find shoes to go with my dress, and I forced Chris to the dark side with me, which kicked off a shoe-buying frenzy of heretofore unknown heights. So my wedding shoes are en route (these, if you must peek, though I’ll have you know that with my mad cheapskate skillz—see how I used a z there, to make myself look cooler?—I paid $16 shipped for them), but somehow while all of that was happening I may have bought a couple other pairs of shoes.
Okay, FINE. I may have bought four other pairs of shoes. But who’s counting? (And one of them is going back. But they others are too cute and so cheap, so they stay.)
Today I very much wanted to wear one of my new pairs of shoes, and it seemed as though my new eel skin loafers ($9! genuflect, peasants!) would best match my highly original outfit of a sweater and jeans. I put them on and they just made the outfit; so sleek! So shiny! (You KNOW how I like shiny things, after all.) I stepped off the carpet in my bedroom onto the tile in my bathroom and my foot sailed across the floor as if I’d just landed on an air hockey table. I then halted my imminent crash to the floor by grabbing on to the sink for dear life, coming to a halt in a cross between a crouch and a split (ow). Crisis averted!
[Pop quiz time! Which of the following items is the saddest?
1) That I wore the shoes anyway, even after discovering that the soles were verrrrry slippery.
2) That I wore the shoes despite the fact that it was 7 degrees outside and you can’t wear SOCKS with eel skin loafers, so hello, my ankles now have frostbite.
3) That I bought shoes made from sea creatures.
4) That Otto told me “bring ’em over here and I’ll hook you up with some batteries, then you’ll have electric eels!”]
I also had an interesting little episode at the bank today, wherein a sweet young teller who appeared to be about 14 was so perplexed by my attempt to both deposit some checks and withdraw some cash, I ended up feeling guilty for having bothered her. It didn’t help that I was in the drive-through lane and she was talking to me through a tinny sound system and Monkey was behind me in the car yammering non-stop. For a fleeting moment I wondered what made me think I could figure out either selling my house or planning a wedding, when I couldn’t seem to just get my stinkin’ $40 at the bank without filling out paperwork in triplicate.
So. This weekend! Finish painting! Tidy up the house! Order Otto’s wedding ring! I’m thinking of having it engraved with “You’re the best shiny thing of all.” Well, that or “Dude, guess what I’m wearing under my dress.”