1. Am I going to be working part-time for the next year?
2. What the hell will I wear to the wedding
So, question number one. I submitted the paperwork to have my job share renewed for the coming fiscal year (which is coming very soon), but it's been over a month and no reply. This is making me anxious. If it's renewed, great. If not, what will I do? I guess this is a two-part question. Sigh. And sigh
Question number two: will I go naked to the wedding? I mean, it's outdoors and all, so nudity might fly. Ha ha! Just kidding, but I have a little story about nudity coming up.
I bought this Anthropologie dress
in purple after it was recommended by someone else. It's jersey material, so baby-friendly and not too formal. But after I wore it for a few minutes, I decided I didn't like the ruching around the waist. It kept riding up every time I bent or turned and was making a pest of itself. And I can't do my patented Brick House dance moves
if my dress is riding up, now can I?
Anyhow, there is an Anthropologie store here but I decided to save time by ordering online, which never saves time. Right? I keep forgetting that last part. I've had great success with virtual shoe shopping, but clothing rarely works out unless it's something that I know will fit well based on previous experience.
(that reminds me of this time I bought an Ann Taylor sweater on eBay. I felt supremely confident that it would fit, as Ann Taylor is the one brand that always works for me, and the seller said it was NWT (New With Tags). What I actually got looked like a child's sweater, it was so badly shrunken, and the "tag" attached to it was just the plastic fastener SANS tag, and it was ORANGE. Which, if you've ever shopped at Ann Taylor, you know they don't use orange tag fasteners. So I email the lady and politely tell her she's full of shit, there's no way that sweater is new. And she gives me some story about how she gets her clothing at this big warehouse and sometimes the clothes are in piles on this dirty floor, so she always does her buyers the service of washing the garments before shipping and she hopes I appreciate her going the extra mile. I was like, FURTHER BULLSHIT, and I am never buying anything from you AGAIN, and then I flounced out of the virtual room.)
What was I talking about? The dress, right.
So the dress doesn't work, and now I have to either pay to ship it back or I have to go to the Anthropologie store anyway. Someday I will learn.
The morning the dress arrived, Lion was napping and I was getting ready for work. I'd just gotten out of the shower when I heard a truck pull up outside. Alex started barking. Why do dogs hate UPS trucks? Even if we're out on a walk miles from our house, if Alex spots one coming up the street he'll puff up his practically nonexistant tail and growl menacingly, like HOW DARE YOU, SIR. And he's so wee and so puppy-looking that the drivers usually smile and wave patronizingly as they pass. "Hewo, wittle puppy! Oh my, wook at your big teef!" No wonder he has a complex.
So Alex starts barking at the truck and I run downstairs (naked) to quiet him before he wakes the baby. I look out the peephole see the truck driving away, and realize that my dress must be on the front step. Squee! I am understandably anxious to try it on but loath to make a trip upstairs just to grab my bathrobe (as I am very into saving time, remember?), so I hide behind the door and open it a crack to see where the package is.
It's right there
, but just far enough to the right that I can't simply reach my arm around and grab it. It is obviously impossible, but that doesn't stop me from making several attempts and even using an umbrella to try to drag it closer, but I only succeed in knocking it off the step.
So I shut the door and sit there on the floor thinking about how I will get the package. By this time I could have driven to Maryland and purchased a brand new bathrobe, but I want to save time by being ridiculous. In the nude.
I wonder if I am brave enough to simply fling open the door and hope that my neighbors won't be looking in my direction at that particular moment. No, I decide, I really should cover up. So I look around and notice the basket of laundry sitting by the couch. Too bad it's Lion's itty bitty clothing. But there's a hand towel in there, so I grab that and return to the front door.
I figure that if I squat on the floor and drape the hand towel over my front, that will cover everything long enough for me to open the door and grab the package. So I get into position, hold the small towel across my chest with my elbows, and open the door.
Towering over me is a pizza guy distributing fliers.
His mouth falls open.
I yelp and slam the door in his face.
You know, this sort of reminds me of the time my sister accidentally locked herself out of her house while naked. She had to wrap herself in the grill cover and climb in through an open window in the front.
I'm not sure where I was going with this, but you get the picture. We're all idiots.
Labels: Clothes, Family, When I'm wrong I say I'm wrong, Work