Very tired. And in case you're looking for candidates for this year's Complete Fucking Idiot awards, I nominate myself for wearing brand new shoes during a whirlwind travel and event day. My feet look and feel like someone took a birch switch to them. Stupid! Stupid! One of the dangers of a shopping style that prohibits spending more than five minutes in any given store. "Yes, those look fine. Please ring them up. No, I don't need to try them on."
Yesterday was a big whirl. Seymour and I got an ironical kick out of getting to spend our ninth wedding anniversary together, sans kiddies. (After he reminded me that it was our anniversary, that is. I did write "whirl.") We also greatly enjoyed skipping from airport point to point like happy little child- and luggage-free butterflies.
The service was lovely, and just what Seymour's grandmother wanted. Everyone behaved themselves. We could almost feel her there, nodding and approving, telling people to adjust things just so. She will be missed.
After the service was a reception, also lovely. With tons of sushi, shellfish, salmon, caviar, and an open bar. I know it is a privilege to be pregnant, but I still drowned my bitterness in a series of Shirley Temples.
Then one of the attendees invited us to hang out on his boat. His 150-foot boat. Damn! All I will write here is that I am glad the boat makes its owners so deliriously happy. It was fun to hang out on the prow with my cocktail glass full of grenadine and soda, and field questions from looky-loos.
"Is that your boat?"
"How much did it cost?"
"I would have to be a lot more drunk to ask that question."
While we were in the alternate universe of yachthood, My gorgeous, darling sister-in-law Bree cornered me and started asking about baby names. I forgot that I'd told her some of my favorites after Leelo was born, since, y'know, we weren't intending to use them.
She asked me point-blank about our girl's name, and told me that there were four little girls with that name in her daughter Leigh's class. I think I kept a straight face in telling her that I shy away from popular names, but I'm sure she read much into my non-answer. But as she also told me that the four girls were British, a quick SS name check for last year puts the name at 400+ in popularity, and I have dreamed about using this name since I was eight, I will hold true. Unless it's a boy.
Another whirly plane and then taxi ride, and we returned to a home with peacefully sleeping kiddies--and an office where Scabby the cat decided to protest our absence by peeing all over the futon. GAAAAAAAH. Does anyone know if this futon can be saved?