I loved my wedding purse! It is my Stevie Nicks bag.
Everything I choose my fashion arbiter Christine rejects as "too Stevie Nicks".
Hey, I LIKE Stevie Nicks. I can't help it if I am an aging hippie. And I have good, classic rock'n'roll taste.
Christine is ten years younger than me. You didn't see me out on the dance floor waving my arms around like a fool to Bon Jovi!
I do try to forget hearing a rock critic refer to Stevie Nicks as "the Norma Desmond of rock'n'roll". Ouch.
When I got the hotel to meet the boys before the wedding, the four handicapped spots in front were already taken. I was strung out and stressed out, still had to put my make-up on and hadn’t been able to zip my dress all the way up in the back because of my broken shoulder. Not a happy camper.
I drove around fruitlessly trying to find a spot I would be able to walk from. There were NONE. I was close to tears because I was also late.
So I parked in the front, figuring I would get one of the boys to move the car for me.
When I went in, I said to the clerk, “I can’t believe you only have four handicapped spots for this entire hotel!” And she got SNOTTY with me!!!! Can you believe it?!?! Alright, so I looked like a mad woman, frazzled, no makeup, my dress drooping down in the front to reveal my underwear. But she was mean. To a handicapped person! So my only apparent handicap at that time was that I appeared to be insane. But still.
She said, "Ma'am, we have plenty of handicapped spaces."
I replied, with total maturity and self restraint, “Well thank you SO MUCH for your sympathy and helpfulness. It is so gratifying to see such a demonstration of really outstanding customer service.” And I said it sort of loud.
So she said, with super-sized snottiness, “Ma’am, we have at least four handicapped spots at each entrance.”
So I said, “Oh, like the other entrances that are a football field length away?!?! Well that IS helpful.”
What I really wanted to do at this point was start jumping around yelling “ATTICA! ATTICA!!!” or at the very least chain myself to a chair in the lobby. But I realized that while in principle Ryan might support my pursuit of social justice, choosing this particular moment could cause him to be less than pleased.
So rather than make a massive a scene in the hotel lobby, I just had her call his room and up I went.
She may claim that I stuck my tongue at her when we left. But I will deny that to the day I die.
(When Bob went to move my car, there was a spot right in front. Ah, the irony.)
It was yesterday. I was mumble mumble mumble years old. Chronologically. Maturity wise I am approaching 12.
I had actually been awake for about an hour before I remembered it was my birthday. That struck me as a little pathetic.
But Ryan and Claire surprised me at the post-wedding brunch with a cake. I was so touched I forgot to take a picture of the cake before it ended up looking like it had been ravaged by a pack of rabid badgers:
It was delish.
Everyone sang happy birthday and I got this beautiful card from my FIVE children:
I can’t deny the fact that they like me!! Right now, they like me. lol
Happy Birthday to me!!
Happy Birthday to me!!