Our neighbors are getting married. Even though we warned them about that.
In a few days, Christmas Tree Guy will be wed to Girl With One-Eyed Cat Who Peed All Over Her Designer Handbags.
We are happy for those crazy kids. We really are.
We’re less impressed with the deliveries.
Apparently this couple has friends and family that actually care enough to send gifts. Lots of gifts. To their home. In the middle of the day. When they aren’t home.
Guess who is home ALL THE TIME?
A certain Reluctant Mother we all know and love.
Seems I have now become the official package delivery drop of Christmas Tree Guy and Cat Pee Purse’s wedding.
I see Fed Ex twice a day and UPS once.
The first few days we had no fewer than six packages in the living room, Chris and I laughed about it. How delicious would it be to open all their packages and replace all their fancy new stuff with our old shit?
Oh, you got a new duvet? We totally need a new duvet! Here I’ll just do a little switcharoo with ours, which is currently covered in cat vomit. . .Seal up the box nice and neat, and you’ll likely be none the wiser until after the honeymoon.
Stand mixer? You bet. I’ve been too lazy to wipe the dried egg, butter, and cookie dough off mine anyway.
A gorgeous slate cheese tray? Ohhhhh. . .I’ve had my eye on those! I’ll just switch it out with a few of these wretched plastic cutting boards we use. . .
Day after day the boxes keep coming. Every day between 2 and 2:30, I sit by the front door on pins and needles, listening for the sound of the truck stopping in front of our house. I have to get the door open before the driver knocks or else Tilghman will go berserk and get the kid awake.
Some of these boxes are heavy. I need one of those back supporting belts just to hoist the thing out of the entryway.
Yesterday, after I caught myself roughly and aggressively manhandling a Crate and Barrel box labeled “Fragile,” I was forced to admit my resentment was growing. Happy Effing Marriage, be a shame if your stemless wine glasses were chipped. . .
But perhaps the most disturbing part about these whole thing, is that the drivers see me everyday and they want to gasp CHAT.
It’s not that I’m anti-social. Ok. It is, kinda.’ But I also don’t want them screwing up nap time. Plus, this chatting is a time suck. I only have a few hours to myself every day to do glamorous and exciting things like clean cat litter boxes and scrub toilets and I don’t have time for idle conversation.
Today I was held hostage by the UPS guy for at least seven minutes. He wished me a Happy Valentine’s Day because “he was off tomorrow.”
Since I’m not completely rude, I wished him a nice one too. (Huge mistake).
He proceeded to tell me all about how it wasn’t going to be fun. He was going to the doctors for a pre-op check up. Not that I asked, but I subsequently learned he’s having his tonsils removed, his uvula shaved, and his nose scraped on the 25th.
“Well, good luck with all of that.” I mumbled as I started to shut the door. . .
“At least I’ll still be able to watch TV.” He says.
“Yes. Yes. You will. . .You take care now.” I say slamming the door shut.
I wasted the next 25 minutes Googling why the hell anyone would need their uvula shaved. Now I’m in a hypochondriac flip-out about the health of my uvula. . .and it’s 4:00 and the cat box is still dirty. . .
Weddings are stupid.