Happy Fucking Holidays

This was my to do list yesterday:

1. drop off donation at Goodwill
2. pick up lobsters at Wegmans
3. return at Steinmart (same mall as above)
4. pick up framing at Strawberry Sampler
5. grocery store
6. make lobster stew (it has to sit overnight)
7. wrap presents
8. maybe work on Stash and Dash bags

I walked the dog, popped her into her crate, loaded up the car, and away I go. Goodwill, check. Wegman's, after some hemming and hawing, I get the kid in charge of the seafood department. "I called you about an hour ago. I guess you had just left. The lobsters didn't come in, but they'll be here by 2:00 (in two hours)." "And then they need to be steamed..." "That'll take about 20 minutes. I'll call you when they get here." "No," I say cheerily, "Call me when they are ready." "Thanks for your patience," he says. "It's okay. I have other errands to do here."

So I sit down to a fine Wegman's lunch. Then I walk over to AC Moore--the dude had asked me to get some boxes for the fudge he made. Then I walk to the other end of the mall to Steinmart. I make my return and look for jeans because I want a new pair for the trip. While I'm wandering around, I decide to buy a gift for my fil and bil. Then I notice a pair of pajamas with a fleecy top. Just yesterday the dude tells me the jersey that goes with his flannel pj bottoms is too thin. Wow, I am scratching things off the list!

I wandered into DSW next because one of the pairs of black shoes I bought from Zappos is too small. I find myself a pair of closed back style clogs and black winter boots. (Mine are brown and I'm going with a black wardrobe for England.) And I find a pair of winter boots for the dude, which he told me he needed on Monday. (Because he cannot anticipate clothing needs.) This is great!

At 2:20, I wander back into Wegman's and pick up the rest of the stew items and something premade for dinner. There's a voicemail for me; my lobsters are ready.

Again, they can't find my order and don't seem to know what's going on. Another kid comes back and says they found them, do I want them steamed? "They'd better be steamed." I say. Kid wanders off. "Good news. We steamed ten in case you wanted more than eight." I say, "I didn't order eight lobsters, I ordered lobsters to make the equivalent of eight pounds of meat." More wandering off. He comes back, "Good news. Seven lobsters equals eight pounds." (Anyone who knows anything about lobsters knows this is very bad news indeed.) "I don't want eight pounds of lobster. I want eight pounds of lobster meat." "Oh, I don't know how to figure that out." "What I want you to do," I say remarkably sweetly, "is to find someone who knows and bring him to me." He consults with the kid in charge (kic) who goes back to the order books. Suddenly the kic is by my side with frozen lobster meat. "I'm so sorry about this screw up. We just didn't get our order of lobsters and we went to another store and they got the wrong thing. You know, you're doing this the expensive way. We're halfway through your order and your total is over $100." "Yes," I respond, "I do this every..." "Every year," he says. (Every other year, I think. But still I remember it's $200 worth of lobster.) "If it's okay," he says, "I'm going to give you the difference in frozen meat." We use frozen meat all the time, so I'm fine with that and at last, I'm going to get my lobster and go home to my dog who has now been crated for four hours, and I still have a 40 minute drive. Then he makes it clear, they are giving me almost four pounds of frozen lobster meat free.

That was annoying but worked out in the end, I think as I drive home.

I take the dog out to play in the yard when I get home, then set to work breaking open ten tiny lobsters (which yielded just over four pounds of meat--almost not worth it as any New Englander knows.) It took me over an hour just to do that step. The stew is simmering when the dude gets home. We eat. He tends to his fudge. He tends to the gift for my sister that arrived from Walmart in a wet box. (From the cleaner that leaked inside the packaging.)

We sit down to watch A Christmas Carol (Patrick Stewart, my favorite) and I finally feel a small flicker of Christmas spirit inside me. (I did put up the wreath and a few snowman decorations.)

As I lay in bed, running over the lists of things yet to be done before I leave the country (in three days!) I realize I forgot to go to the Strawberry Sampler where my mother's and my sister's gifts await. I burst into tears. The dude went to the computer to check to see if I could pick them up today, but you know I wouldn't have told you this whole story if there were a happy ending. Because this will be my most miserable Christmas ever. Sigh.

Photo stolen from Subversive Cross Stitch Web site. Go there. Buy something to make up for my bad behavior.