The food at book club was fabulous (Junior League secret onion dip, zucchini-cheddar bread, my grandmother's potato-chocolate cake* don't laugh it's fabulous) and would have been even better if people had gotten to my house on time.
They weren't late because we are in the South and being a few minutes late is the polite thing to do. No, in the Midwest, 7:00 means 6:57, missy. This is Wisconsin. People here get up early.
It looks like we're not going to England this summer after all. SH's boss has to go, so he is going to do the training session SH was going to run. Oh well. That means we won't be making a trip to this mill in Lower Slaughter where we had the fabulous brown bread ice cream that SH still regrets not getting more of even though he wasn't hungry.
They were late because I "My greatest weakness is that I am not a detail person so I always make sure to double and triple check details and to have detail people on my team" wrote down my address as 2426 Oak instead of 2446 Oak at my first book club meeting. And then didn't bother to read the not one but TWO emails Karen sent announcing the meeting location.
Last November, I sent my sunglasses to Ray Ban for repair. I waited my six to eight weeks to get my glasses back and nothing. I emailed twice and didn't get a satisfactory answer. ("Call us at this number during business hours!" Why bother to have an email if all they are going to tell you is to call?) I called, waited forever, etc etc.
I finally sent a polite but very pointed email asking them what the heck was going on up there, why I had a case number but my credit card hadn't been charged for the repairs, how my glasses could sit there for two months with no action being taken.
The supervisor called me and I was quite firm with her, which is not my way, because I am tough when I am writing but a total wimp in person. In this case, though, I thought I was on solid ground. Look at the facts! They had Completely Screwed Up!
Maybe he is fishing for eels? Or would that be eeling?
And then she said, "But Ms Factotum, we sent you a letter on November 27."
"Well, I never got it."
"We sent it."
"Oh yeah? Prove it."
"We sent it to 2246 Oak."
"Well, that's not even my address!"
"But it's the address on the letter you sent us."
Long pause as I look up my original letter.
"Oh. Well. Never mind."
It's bad enough to make a dumb mistake once. It's really bad to make it twice. It's even worse to make it twice and to make different versions of it. Can't I even be consistent in my idiocy here? 2246 and 2426 Oak. Good grief. At least I didn't have our tax refund sent there.
* The cake would have been even better if I had been able to add the one cup of grated almonds called for in the recipe, but no, those were unavailable. I had prepared them and put them in a dish on top of the stove. We have one of those horrible smooth stovetops that I hate, hate, hate and will be replaced with a gas stove After Alimony. It is good for nothing but extra storage space.
I thought it was cat safe because Shirley jumped up there once while the surface was still hot and jumped down again real quick. But apparently, she is incapable of universalizing an experience ("Oh no! Stove = hot = pain!" is beyond her, although she can figure out how to break into the laundry room not one but three ways), so while I was out with SH Sunday evening on a forced march down by the river and to Noodles and Co., Shirley jumped onto the stovetop and knocked the almonds down to the floor. Yes, she meant to do it. She could find food in Gandhi's kitchen.
Then she and Laverne had themselves a little almond feast.
Then they came to bed with us.
Then they threw up. Not on the bed, but still. Cat vomit. Ick.
Which would have been bad, but which was made worse by the fact that Shirley had already thrown up twice that afternoon after jumping on the island to steal my freshly-made baba ganoush. She is fast -- she did it in the fifteen seconds that I left the kitchen to get something from the bathroom. She scarfed it down so fast that she threw up two separate batches of about two tablespoons each, which, if a human did in proportion to his stomach size, would be like a gallon.