Boss HATES cats. I discovered this fact within just a couple of months of working for him. It was a topic that came up naturally, in the course of casual, relaxed conversation. But since Zilla didn’t have the benefit of a couple of month’s worth of casual, relaxed conversation with Boss, she didn’t get the memo that Boss despises felines.
Now, don’t misunderstand this chronicle to be a personal judgment call against cats. I’m not exactly a cat lover, but my lack of affection has more to do with discovering severe allergies to cat dander as a child, and having a Dh and a whole houseful of children who share that identical ailment. Nevertheless, we tried to have a cat as a pet several years back. She was a sweet cat, and she had a litter of the cutest kittens you ever saw….. to all of which we were highly allergic. As an alternative to tearing our eyes out , she and her brood had to go. We had given cat ownership the old college try, but we’re just not cat people. So please, no offense. But whether or not MY family loves cats is irrelevant anyway; I just wanted you to know where I’m coming from.
Boss’ hate does not seem to be allergy-related in any way. He just can’t abide cats. He doesn’t like how dainty they are, he doesn’t like how snooty they are, he doesn’t like the way their food or their litter boxes smell, how they bathe or how their hair floats in the air and clings to everything in sight. Maybe that makes him more aloof and unfriendly than the cats he blames for those traits, but you gotta give him credit for recognizing that he NEVER wanted to have a pet cat.
Zilla LOVES cats, and had been attached to the same one for something like sixteen years, a tiny little female that looked more like a kitten than a full-grown adult. Up until the very week before the wedding, Boss had no clue. How this morsel of information escaped him is beyond me, but given that the first instance he ever laid eyes on Zilla’s home was when they entered it to announce their engagement to her parents, and the first time Zilla ever glimpsed Boss’ home was in the short period of days between the engagement and the wedding, the subject of their respective pet preferences was apparently never broached.
Boss arrived at the office one morning and queried dully, “Guess what? Zilla has a cat ,” knowing that I would fully comprehend what a profound calamity this was for him. I surmised he’d just made this dreadful discovery via a phone conversation with Zilla, and needed to get it off his chest. “What are you going to do?” I asked, wondering if he’d somehow offer to substitute a cute little dog for Zilla’s cat , and pseudo-charitably offer for the cat to remain in the home it had always known. “Oh, it’s coming with her. It’s going to live with us,” Boss drawled thoughtfully, as though he was even then trying to hammer out a way to avoid it. Dh later admitted that he and Boss had some fun with the matter over lunch one day, when they each crafted appalling scenarious about various “accidents” that might befall the poor thing when Zilla wasn’t looking.
Definitely too kind-hearted to carry out any of those plans (I think), Boss resigned himself to his most dreaded pet scenario. Zilla moved her stuff over to Boss’ with a trailer. She set up the litter box and scattered cat toys to make Kitty feel familiar and secure. Kitty stayed with Zilla’s parents during the honeymoon, but once the happy couple came home, so did Kitty.
Poor Boss. It was quite an adjustment. Zilla put up the Christmas tree. Kitty took it down. Numerous times. She was either very playful or traumatized from the sudden move. Kitty was gnawing on the tree lights, batting glass ornaments around the house until they smashed into smithereens against the wall. No need for a cat bed. Kitty slept with Boss and BPzilla. Since Kitty was getting a little age on her, she wasn’t so fastidious anymore. Boss reported the abject horror of finding little chunks of kitty litter (and occasionally worse) on his pillow and in his sheets at night.
Now, if you really think about this, given Pregzilla’s germ-o-phobic status, the fact that she could even momentarily tolerate living with this cat is nothing short of amazing. Consider this: She couldn’t stand to sit at a desk at the office that wasn’t thoroughly disinfected, yet she had no issue with Kitty traipsing all over the house with litter-y feet. She later ripped out an entire roomful of carpet because of a busted light bulb, but stepping on a ralphed-up hair ball on the way to the bathroom at night was okay by her.
Except that Kitty wasn’t supposed to puke up hair balls. And she basically stopped attacking the Christmas tree and took to sitting, entranced, right next to it, stupefied by the lights. It was cute for a while, but then Boss and Zilla realized that something was wrong with Kitty. So, though they could ill-afford the bills, Kitty was taken to the veterinarian for treatment, again, and again, and again, and again. Kitty had some kind of surgery, even though she was growing elderly and the vet advised putting her to sleep. Then Kitty needed follow-up care, and expensive medicine. Kitty became incontinent.
By way of some sort of poetic irony, since Pregzilla was well, pregnant; BOSS had to be the one to change the litter, administer the medicine and clean up the accidents.
Finally, Kitty was admitted to the veterinarian office as an inpatient with, if I remember correctly, acute kidney failure. Boss was beside himself about the cost, and the futility, but he didn’t open his piehole about it because Pregzilla was beside herself about the cat. I mean she was hysterical. He couldn’t even discuss it with her. She refused to admit to herself or anyone else that her little cat, however dear, had attained its life expectancy. She seriously just wasn’t rational. But then, you have to take into account; it’s Pregzilla – is she EVER?
Days went past, and the poor cat got graver and graver. Boss was doing his level best to be compassionate as the bills mounted. Whatever emotional spectacle Zilla had made of herself, it had affected Boss to the extent that he wasn’t touching the vet decision-making with a ten foot pole.
Fortuitously for Zilla, they’d stumbled upon a vet whose policy was that as long as the patient’s family was willing to carry on with treatment, the vet was willing to provide it. They even tossed around the idea of securing a kidney transplant for that poor aged cat. I nearly choked on my staff meeting donut when Boss shared that with the office. And that would cost HOW much??? And Pregzilla remembers that she’s got a baby on the way, right???
Finally, late one night came a mass text message from Zilla. Kitty is an alias I’m using, because the cat’s REAL name is a people name. That people name was one I THOUGHT I’d heard attached to Zilla’s mother, so when I got the missive that “My dearest lifelong friend, my precious ‘Susie’ has left the earth and gone to be with Jesus tonight. She left into heaven from my arms at 11 p.m.,” I thought for SURE it was the unexpected death of Zilla’s mom. Poor girl, she was in the midst of raging hormones and first trimester morning sickness, was all emotional anyway over her dying cat and THEN her mom passes away. But I paused in confusion -- I suddenly feared that it might not be Mom’s name after all, but Kitty’s, and so, embarrassingly enough, I was pressed upon to shoot back a generic sympathy message that would apply to either bereavement, because at that moment, I couldn’t get hold of anyone who could actually give me the definitive info about the identity of the dearly departed. Let me tell you, crafting The Pregzilla Chronicles is a CINCH compared to trying to give expression to a note that is sensitive, compassionate and appropriate for the demise of EITHER a mother……..or a cat. Have a go at that yourself, just for kicks, and post your efforts below.
Pregzilla remained inconsolable and secluded in their home for at least three weeks following Kitty’s funeral. Boss and Zilla haven’t, to date, replaced Zilla’s beloved cat. And I think taking over kitty litter cake, at this point, is probably a really BAAAAAD idea.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Chapter 9: A Pregzilla Sighting
Okay, I KNOW I just posted a new chapter last night, so maybe it's too soon for another one. But this one is FRESH, soo.....
Turns out I didn’t need to move a muscle to get you guys your Pregzilla fix. She stopped in the office yesterday on her way to run some errands.
I heard her greeting her SIL and chatting with one of our clients in the foyer. They were making maternal small talk. Yes, she’s feeling much better than she was. She’s due August 7, but, obviously, the baby will be here anytime from mid-July on. Oh? Yes, the baby is measuring a little large, so he’ll be here by the end of next month, at the verrrrry latest.
The experienced mom gently reflected that SHE had measured four weeks “ahead” with her first child, but that her doctor ended up having to induce – more than a week after her due date. Stone silence. No, kind stranger, although Pregzilla might be able to sing like a bird, and reportedly types 80 words per minute, she is NOT good at math or common sense, and she will NOT comprehend that just because she’s measuring a bit large for dates, this does NOT automatically translate into an early delivery. As incredible as it may seem, she has absolutely no doubt that if she’s measuring 36 weeks, she WILL have that baby in exactly four weeks. You’re wasting your breath to attempt to explain. Accept it and move along. Thattagirl.
I was Pregzilla’s next victim. I greeted her with a hug, after which our eyes met and she directed my gaze to her belly by tugging on her shirt and smoothing the curve of her abdomen. Yes, dear, you’re still pregnant. Perhaps even more so than when I last saw you. Duh. (WHY does this irritate me? I don’t mean for it to do so. )
Anyway, I asked after her well-being. She was looking cheery, but perhaps a little haggard and swollen, I thought. Hard to make comparisons really, since she neither wears makeup nor fixes her hair anymore. Seems the baby was active for THREE whole hours in a ROW last night, and it had affected her sleep. At the end of her wits, she had awakened Boss, because little man “always quiets right down” when Boss speaks to the little bugger. Wow. Three whole hours of (noiseless) activity, and it drives her over the edge. Boss had attributed his tardiness (by no less than ½ hour) to the staff meeting this morning on lost sleep due to being disturbed thusly by Pregzilla. Does anybody else speculate that these people are in BIG trouble when they bring that baby home?
Pregzilla also announced to me that upon awakening this morning, she realized that she had dropped 2 inches overnight. See, Mrs. Elderly Grand-Multipara?(What they called me last pregnancy, because I was over 40 and had birthed a cumulative litter. ) Delivery is imminent. Cool for you. But WHY do both she and Boss seem to have this insatiable NEED to make me agree that this baby will be arriving before its due date? It doesn’t matter to me!! I pray good health and safety for you all, but honestly, I don’t care if she emits babies like drop cookies every few moments, so it CERTAINLY won’t make a big difference to me whether little man joins them in July or August. Seriously. And all this after I only casually mentioned, ONCE, that fetal size has little to do with birthdate.
She disappeared to check some emails or something, but when Zilla re-emerged, she invited me to call her anytime. I would, I said , and encouraged her to feel free to give me a call too. “Well,” she responded, “I usually just tell people to call me, because I’m always either asleep or awake.”
Yeah. Meeee toooo. What a coincidence. I’m also always either asleep or awake, since unconscious and dead are the only other two options available. WHAT??????? WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY TO ME? I waited in stunned silence for her to realize what had passed her lips, giggle and then reword it so it made sense. No such luck. Zilla went on to explain that if she’s awake, she’ll see who called and call them back (I guess it’s never occurred to her to just ANSWER the phone?), but if she’s asleep, she won’t pick up at all. (Is THAT how that works? How enlightening. I’ve often wondered how folks handle phone calls while sleeping. )
Mercifully, before Pregzilla said anything else I’d have to file away and attempt to decrypt later , she had to sally forth on her errand running. I did learn that she has a prenatal visit with her OB this week. Can’t wait to hear the latest…
And Dh is pretty well DEMANDING that I spend some time with her soon. Isn’t he mean?? But evidently, you guys aren’t the only ones who love them some Pregzilla news.
queenofbooks said:
I dare you to make her that cake that looks like a cat's litter box.
Bethany, you don't know it yet, but this is a PURRRRRRfect segway into a future chapter of the Pregzilla Chronicles.
Turns out I didn’t need to move a muscle to get you guys your Pregzilla fix. She stopped in the office yesterday on her way to run some errands.
I heard her greeting her SIL and chatting with one of our clients in the foyer. They were making maternal small talk. Yes, she’s feeling much better than she was. She’s due August 7, but, obviously, the baby will be here anytime from mid-July on. Oh? Yes, the baby is measuring a little large, so he’ll be here by the end of next month, at the verrrrry latest.
The experienced mom gently reflected that SHE had measured four weeks “ahead” with her first child, but that her doctor ended up having to induce – more than a week after her due date. Stone silence. No, kind stranger, although Pregzilla might be able to sing like a bird, and reportedly types 80 words per minute, she is NOT good at math or common sense, and she will NOT comprehend that just because she’s measuring a bit large for dates, this does NOT automatically translate into an early delivery. As incredible as it may seem, she has absolutely no doubt that if she’s measuring 36 weeks, she WILL have that baby in exactly four weeks. You’re wasting your breath to attempt to explain. Accept it and move along. Thattagirl.
I was Pregzilla’s next victim. I greeted her with a hug, after which our eyes met and she directed my gaze to her belly by tugging on her shirt and smoothing the curve of her abdomen. Yes, dear, you’re still pregnant. Perhaps even more so than when I last saw you. Duh. (WHY does this irritate me? I don’t mean for it to do so. )
Anyway, I asked after her well-being. She was looking cheery, but perhaps a little haggard and swollen, I thought. Hard to make comparisons really, since she neither wears makeup nor fixes her hair anymore. Seems the baby was active for THREE whole hours in a ROW last night, and it had affected her sleep. At the end of her wits, she had awakened Boss, because little man “always quiets right down” when Boss speaks to the little bugger. Wow. Three whole hours of (noiseless) activity, and it drives her over the edge. Boss had attributed his tardiness (by no less than ½ hour) to the staff meeting this morning on lost sleep due to being disturbed thusly by Pregzilla. Does anybody else speculate that these people are in BIG trouble when they bring that baby home?
Pregzilla also announced to me that upon awakening this morning, she realized that she had dropped 2 inches overnight. See, Mrs. Elderly Grand-Multipara?(What they called me last pregnancy, because I was over 40 and had birthed a cumulative litter. ) Delivery is imminent. Cool for you. But WHY do both she and Boss seem to have this insatiable NEED to make me agree that this baby will be arriving before its due date? It doesn’t matter to me!! I pray good health and safety for you all, but honestly, I don’t care if she emits babies like drop cookies every few moments, so it CERTAINLY won’t make a big difference to me whether little man joins them in July or August. Seriously. And all this after I only casually mentioned, ONCE, that fetal size has little to do with birthdate.
She disappeared to check some emails or something, but when Zilla re-emerged, she invited me to call her anytime. I would, I said , and encouraged her to feel free to give me a call too. “Well,” she responded, “I usually just tell people to call me, because I’m always either asleep or awake.”
Yeah. Meeee toooo. What a coincidence. I’m also always either asleep or awake, since unconscious and dead are the only other two options available. WHAT??????? WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY TO ME? I waited in stunned silence for her to realize what had passed her lips, giggle and then reword it so it made sense. No such luck. Zilla went on to explain that if she’s awake, she’ll see who called and call them back (I guess it’s never occurred to her to just ANSWER the phone?), but if she’s asleep, she won’t pick up at all. (Is THAT how that works? How enlightening. I’ve often wondered how folks handle phone calls while sleeping. )
Mercifully, before Pregzilla said anything else I’d have to file away and attempt to decrypt later , she had to sally forth on her errand running. I did learn that she has a prenatal visit with her OB this week. Can’t wait to hear the latest…
And Dh is pretty well DEMANDING that I spend some time with her soon. Isn’t he mean?? But evidently, you guys aren’t the only ones who love them some Pregzilla news.
queenofbooks said:
I dare you to make her that cake that looks like a cat's litter box.
Bethany, you don't know it yet, but this is a PURRRRRRfect segway into a future chapter of the Pregzilla Chronicles.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Chapter 8 – Pregzilla: In the Spotlight
Pregzilla possesses, how do we say, somewhat diva-ish tendencies. Case in point, and an interesting element of the wedding processional I’ve forgotten to include previously. Boss evidently had some sort of dream, years ago, regarding his eventual wedding. It seems that in this vision, his bride materialized out of a kind of blaze of brilliant glory. Well, once the betrothal had been accomplished, he resolved to attempt to convert that reverie into reality.
The way this was achieved was riveting in itself, but let’s hold our collective horses for a moment. If your fiancé recommended that you enter your wedding hall like some sort of phantasmagoric celestial fireball, your MILDEST reply might be something like,”Oh, honey, wouldn’t that be silly? Of course, you aren’t serious.” With an unspoken, “…because if I thought you were, I would put the brakes on this whole thing and have you committed.”
Not Zilla. She was enraptured with the idea that her march down the aisle could be so theatrical. So. After the attendants had all made their respective ways to the altar and were turned and waiting for the bride, the sanctuary doors closed. Zilla swished into place behind them, and one of the 7 foot tall nephews crouched behind her, holding Boss’ 25 million candlepower flashlight. (Just so you know, this thing is ridiculously bright. Long before Bridezilla was a blip on the radar, Boss had demonstrated it to Dh and me outside our offices. It’s got “retinal damage” warnings and everything, and I have no idea WHY he bought it except for being able to say he has the biggest flashlight around. Boss is just like that. )
At the appointed moment, the sanctuary doors swung wide as nephew tripped the switch on the flashlight. There stood Bridezilla in the doorway, surrounded by a dazzling flood of blinding candlepower. The effect was potent, and we heard lots of shocked gasps , whether from the sensational display or the retinal damage, we might not ever know until the lawsuits start rolling in.
You might already be aware that when she and Boss returned from their honeymoon, Bridezilla had a position awaiting her at our place of business. I had dismissed Boss’ sister’s skepticism about whether or not she would fit in by chalking up Sis’ doubt to a tad bit of apprehension about the prospect of having to divide her already limited work hours with yet another employee. Now I realize that my perceptive colleague had already comprehended what would take me yet awhile longer to realize. Pregzilla might never have had any intention of working in our office at ALL, but she CERTAINLY wasn’t willing to just morph into the role that Boss wanted her to fill.
No way. I have wondered if her initial attraction to Boss was the straw man she built of him. She moved in circles where there was a lot of buzz about Boss. Boss was doing this, boss was going here. Boss was speaking there, Boss was planning that. Boss knows this person, Boss is good friends with that person. Boss sounded glamorous and exciting. Add to that the fact that there were several young ladies in her acquaintance who had significant crushes on Boss , and I have the impression that Bridezilla may have fallen in love with the IDEA of Boss long before she was introduced to the individual. I’m just saying.
The first week that the newlyweds were back in town, I took a little time off from the office. You know, to let Bridezilla settle in to her new job , with Boss training her , rather than some know-it-all has-been whom she might have, at some misguided time, half-suspected of having romantic designs on her husband. (And, just in case you’ve forgotten, gag. ) I wasn’t feeling unfriendly toward her, in fact, despite the Bridezilla that had emerged during the wedding preparations, I had adopted a pretty compassionate attitude toward this young wife who I knew had not fully realized what she’d just stepped into.
My desk was located just outside the window of Boss’ office. If he ever actually USED his office, which he did only rarely, Boss could stare at the back of my head as I worked at my computer. Not that he ever engaged in that practice, but as a result of the feasibility, I considered that location to be the PERFECT one for his new wife. And an olive branch of peace from me, who didn’t want to even have the INTIMATION that Boss could potentially be staring at the back of my head. I cleared out my drawers, polished up the desk, set up a new computer for her, and even stocked her up with her own array of office tools in her favorite color. I penned a sincere and congenial “Welcome Home” note and made myself scarce for a few days.
When I stopped in mid-week for my paycheck, I didn’t find Bridezilla or Boss. What I DID find was an economy canister of Clorox wipes and two cans of Lysol reposing on my old desk. The desk organizer and file trays I had carefully cleaned and arranged for Zilla were absent. When I carried something to the kitchen later, I found the file trays dumped unceremoniously in the sink, and the desk organizer stuffed in the trash. The office tools I’d set her up with were missing altogether, and I never have set eyes on them again. I’d guess if the computer at her workstation were in any way disposable, it would have departed as well.
Seems Zilla is a germ-o-phobe. Immediately after the announcement of her ovulation, she caught a really nasty cold. Which, to me, just reinforced the reliability of my pregnancy prediction, because in my experience, early pregnancy is often accompanied by a suppressed immune system. To keep the mother’s body from attacking the new baby as a foreign object. Yeah. So I’m thinking, “See, I told you so. She’s knocked up,” while Bride-now-Pregzilla is thinking, “I’ll bet ELLEN is the pathogenic minefield who is responsible for this awful cold. I must destroy everything she’s ever touched.” Or something like that.
Now, to be fair, just a few weeks before, after we had buttoned up our last big community event, which occurred the day after the shower with the impromptu Japanese guests, Boss’ sis wasn’t feeling well. Like really bad. So she stopped by the hospital to get stuff checked out, and it turned out she had MRSA, which is not funny at all. Sis ended up staying in the hospital almost the whole next week and was released practically JUST in time to be able to attend the wedding. So maybe MY microbes weren’t the only bugs Zilla was wigging out about. But, as has been reinforced repeatedly since then, Pregzilla IS a germ-o-phobe, and she’s BIG on decontamination. Scorched earth.
Dh keeps telling me I should pay Pregzilla a visit in her home, which I haven’t done for a few months. Given the delicate circumstances, most recently the scoop that she virtuously ripped up an entire roomful of carpeting in tribute to a kamikaze lamp bulb, I’m not sure I want to risk taxing Boss’ budget (or benefactors) further by inflicting my non-sterile self into their prophylactic abode.
The way this was achieved was riveting in itself, but let’s hold our collective horses for a moment. If your fiancé recommended that you enter your wedding hall like some sort of phantasmagoric celestial fireball, your MILDEST reply might be something like,”Oh, honey, wouldn’t that be silly?
Not Zilla. She was enraptured with the idea that her march down the aisle could be so theatrical. So. After the attendants had all made their respective ways to the altar and were turned and waiting for the bride, the sanctuary doors closed. Zilla swished into place behind them, and one of the 7 foot tall nephews crouched behind her, holding Boss’ 25 million candlepower flashlight. (Just so you know, this thing is ridiculously bright. Long before Bridezilla was a blip on the radar, Boss had demonstrated it to Dh and me outside our offices. It’s got “retinal damage” warnings and everything, and I have no idea WHY he bought it except for being able to say he has the biggest flashlight around. Boss is just like that. )
At the appointed moment, the sanctuary doors swung wide as nephew tripped the switch on the flashlight. There stood Bridezilla in the doorway, surrounded by a dazzling flood of blinding candlepower. The effect was potent, and we heard lots of shocked gasps , whether from the sensational display or the retinal damage, we might not ever know until the lawsuits start rolling in.
You might already be aware that when she and Boss returned from their honeymoon, Bridezilla had a position awaiting her at our place of business. I had dismissed Boss’ sister’s skepticism about whether or not she would fit in by chalking up Sis’ doubt to a tad bit of apprehension about the prospect of having to divide her already limited work hours with yet another employee. Now I realize that my perceptive colleague had already comprehended what would take me yet awhile longer to realize. Pregzilla might never have had any intention of working in our office at ALL, but she CERTAINLY wasn’t willing to just morph into the role that Boss wanted her to fill.
No way. I have wondered if her initial attraction to Boss was the straw man she built of him. She moved in circles where there was a lot of buzz about Boss. Boss was doing this, boss was going here. Boss was speaking there, Boss was planning that. Boss knows this person, Boss is good friends with that person. Boss sounded glamorous and exciting. Add to that the fact that there were several young ladies in her acquaintance who had significant crushes on Boss , and I have the impression that Bridezilla may have fallen in love with the IDEA of Boss long before she was introduced to the individual. I’m just saying.
The first week that the newlyweds were back in town, I took a little time off from the office. You know, to let Bridezilla settle in to her new job , with Boss training her , rather than some know-it-all has-been whom she might have, at some misguided time, half-suspected of having romantic designs on her husband. (And, just in case you’ve forgotten, gag. ) I wasn’t feeling unfriendly toward her, in fact, despite the Bridezilla that had emerged during the wedding preparations, I had adopted a pretty compassionate attitude toward this young wife who I knew had not fully realized what she’d just stepped into.
My desk was located just outside the window of Boss’ office. If he ever actually USED his office, which he did only rarely, Boss could stare at the back of my head as I worked at my computer. Not that he ever engaged in that practice, but as a result of the feasibility, I considered that location to be the PERFECT one for his new wife. And an olive branch of peace from me, who didn’t want to even have the INTIMATION that Boss could potentially be staring at the back of my head. I cleared out my drawers, polished up the desk, set up a new computer for her, and even stocked her up with her own array of office tools in her favorite color. I penned a sincere and congenial “Welcome Home” note and made myself scarce for a few days.
When I stopped in mid-week for my paycheck, I didn’t find Bridezilla or Boss. What I DID find was an economy canister of Clorox wipes and two cans of Lysol reposing on my old desk. The desk organizer and file trays I had carefully cleaned and arranged for Zilla were absent. When I carried something to the kitchen later, I found the file trays dumped unceremoniously in the sink, and the desk organizer stuffed in the trash. The office tools I’d set her up with were missing altogether, and I never have set eyes on them again. I’d guess if the computer at her workstation were in any way disposable, it would have departed as well.
Seems Zilla is a germ-o-phobe. Immediately after the announcement of her ovulation, she caught a really nasty cold. Which, to me, just reinforced the reliability of my pregnancy prediction, because in my experience, early pregnancy is often accompanied by a suppressed immune system. To keep the mother’s body from attacking the new baby as a foreign object. Yeah. So I’m thinking, “See, I told you so. She’s knocked up,” while Bride-now-Pregzilla is thinking, “I’ll bet ELLEN is the pathogenic minefield who is responsible for this awful cold. I must destroy everything she’s ever touched.” Or something like that.
Now, to be fair, just a few weeks before, after we had buttoned up our last big community event, which occurred the day after the shower with the impromptu Japanese guests, Boss’ sis wasn’t feeling well. Like really bad. So she stopped by the hospital to get stuff checked out, and it turned out she had MRSA, which is not funny at all. Sis ended up staying in the hospital almost the whole next week and was released practically JUST in time to be able to attend the wedding. So maybe MY microbes weren’t the only bugs Zilla was wigging out about. But, as has been reinforced repeatedly since then, Pregzilla IS a germ-o-phobe, and she’s BIG on decontamination. Scorched earth.
Dh keeps telling me I should pay Pregzilla a visit in her home, which I haven’t done for a few months. Given the delicate circumstances, most recently the scoop that she virtuously ripped up an entire roomful of carpeting in tribute to a kamikaze lamp bulb, I’m not sure I want to risk taxing Boss’ budget (or benefactors) further by inflicting my non-sterile self into their prophylactic abode.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Chapter 7 – Bridezilla: Notes from the Honeymoon
To this day, I don’t know where Boss & Bridezilla spent their wedding night. The only info forthcoming was that they were staying at a hotel somewhere in the greater metropolitan area.
Were they afraid their more rustic friends and relatives would organize an unnerving shivaree? (I suspect the answer to this one is “Yes!” and secrecy was probably a good call on their part.) Did Boss worry that a one of his jilted lady friends, in a jealous rage, would hire a hit man to ambush the newlywed suite and do away with his blushing new bride? Was he nervous that a disgruntled former associate might sabotage his vehicle overnight and wreck their honeymoon plans? We may never know for sure, but I don’t put any fear completely outside the domain of Boss’ neuroses.
Regardless of motive, this silent treatment was remarkably odd, because boss is typically overflowing with extraneous details. In fact, in the many months since I had been in Boss’ employ, I could expect from three to five calls per day from his cell, even on holidays, even if he was out of town.
Boss is quite unreserved, so I could expect to spend no less than 15 minutes per call trading opinions on issues about which I never realized I needed to be incisive. For instance, whether McDonalds utilizes “real” chicken for their McNuggets, whether cell termination fees are legal, whether the fluoride in toothpaste is toxic over time, or whether that burger he’d grabbed from Hardee’s was liable to agree with his innards. All this in addition to the numerous business-related discussions we would have over the course of the hectic workday.
As the wedding had drawn nearer and nearer, and I’d heard NOTHING about where he and Bridezilla were going, how long they’d be gone, or even what the heck I should do about the pressing day-to-day business decisions I’d have to make in his absence, I was quite astonished. But there was zero. No calls, no notes on my desk, no explanatory emails. Knowing Boss’ penchant for last minute directives, I kept looking for something just around the corner, but nada.
I’ll have to admit, I was half anticipating this shutdown of contact. You see, Boss had previously experienced no gender barriers to his communication. He liberally made cell calls to other females with the same sense of freedom that he felt to call one of his sisters, or his mom. No strings attached, no apparent ulterior motives, no seductive intentions. He is unfailingly kindhearted, gregarious and compassionate. He is notorious for giving friendly, spontaneous hugs to people of all ages, even upon first meeting. Whatever woman agreed to be the other half of this expressive individual would have to be okay with all the love he liked to spread.
Bridezilla had been in a romance-induced stupor for a bit during the preceding weeks, but sometime close to the wedding, she apparently realized she WASN’T okay with her fiancé’s bountiful chatting and serial embracing after all. She hadn’t known Boss well, obviously, but even though she recognized that he was REALLY outgoing early on, I don’t believe she was prepared for the sheer volume of women that regularly come rustling through his personal space.
Or for his frame of mind about some of those women. Preening his ego he might have been, but he remained genuinely convinced that, in spite of his personal disinterest, many of these women fervently yearned for his carnal attentions. By virtue of his long years of bachelorhood, during which he felt the need to recurrently remind himself and any bystanders that he still had it “goin’ on”, Boss often disclosed his hunches that a particular woman or other had made desperate attempts to get him alone. When he became affianced to Zilla, I think that bravado was compounded by Boss’ desire to reinforce in her mind the concept that she had made a PRIME catch. So, Boss had no qualms about amusing Bridezilla with bygone tales of thwarted passion. The breakdown was that poor Zilla wasn’t amused. She became suspicious. And a little ticked.
(How suspicious? How ticked? Later, in the flurry of fantasy during which we imagined that Bridezilla would become Boss’ executive assistant, I noticed that the business cell phone bill had mysteriously disappeared. All umpteen pages of it. Mmmmhmm. I deduced later that Bridezilla had swiped that thing and gone over it with a fine-toothed comb. I imagine she was none-too-pleased to see that there were HUNDREDS of calls to a whole host of females (including me) over the course of the month in question, adding up to DOZENS of hours. Even now, months later, the cell bill will intermittently appear on my desk with only the statement page present, and I know Zilla has struck again. I envision her holed up with Boss’ contact list and a calculator, furiously deciphering who he’s been talking to and for how long. All I know is, MY cell phone is now utterly devoid of calls from Boss, and I’m no longer required to thrash out whether Bill Gates will really come across with that $250 if Boss forwards that email to ten people. )
Post-wedding, almost all executive communication now comes through Boss’ sister, who is also on staff in our office. The honeymoon was no different. We got updates on the conjugal goings-on two, sometimes three times per day. They had a nice trip to points south. Beautiful scenery, so relaxing.
And Bridezilla was getting sick. She was having mild abdominal pain, but so disquieted was Zilla, and so concerned was her Dh, that he had rushed her to the emergency room. Boss got word to us that she had cystitis. I could tell from his message that he wasn’t quite sure what that was, but he feared it was serious. We married ladies around the office giggled a little. Some of us had experienced a bladder infection on our honeymoons too. But poor Zilla; even though the ER doc gave her some meds, they apparently didn’t tell her what was causing the problem or what she should do about it, so she got even sicker.
You know how, after it’s been a REALLY long time since you’ve been to the theater, and you finally go – the popcorn smells SO good, you just can’t resist, so you buy a BIG TUB, with extra butter, and before you know it, you’ve eaten it ALL, because you can’t get enough POPCORN? Well, that’s how it must have been for Boss, only not with popcorn – well, YES with popcorn, only not the movie kind, the Fishie kind. Anyway, I think one of his sisters set him straight on exactly what was going on, and how Bridezilla might be able to, um, alleviate that problem by a quick trip to the facilities after . But I heard that he blamed himself, because he just couldn’t get enough popcorn, which was WAY more info than I wanted to know.
Once the newlyweds got to the bottom of the cause of the first problem, and the antibiotics started to kick in, they did a little day-tripping at their honeymoon destination. They even attended the taping of a television show, during which the host had interviewed them and given a special celebratory gift to commemorate their marriage, and invited Bridezilla to come back and SING at the next show taping.
Sadly, it was not to be, because before the clock struck midnight, Bridezilla was back in the emergency room with more abdominal pain. The doctor ordered some tests. One of the tests showed that Bridezilla had a functional cyst on one of her ovaries. The doctor shared the results, emphasizing that he wasn’t concerned about this, and given Zilla’s latest health trouble, he thought the pain was probably associated with the increased activity in this region of late , so he put Bridezilla on a day or two of pelvic rest. BWAHAHAHAHA. Just what Boss wanted to hear on his HONEYMOON!!!
Meanwhile, Zilla was flipping out about the cyst on her ovary, and recruited Boss to join her. Of course, the two of them asked no questions of the medical professionals, conducted no research, they just spread the horrid news with what they considered appropriate gravity. Bridezilla has (sniff, sniff ) a functional cyst on her ovary. (Yes, dearhearts. Zilla is a fertile female of childbearing age, so yes, she WOULD have cysts on her ovaries. Those are called eggs, and they are ripening and preparing to burst and consequently be available for fertilization. It’s called ovulation. You may have heard this term before?)
But oh, no. This news drove Zilla to take to her abstinent bed. Boss called the TV show and notified them that Bridezilla couldn’t come to sing because they had just received the report that she had a cyst on her ovary. Accckkk.
As I may have mentioned before, Boss has a habit of sharing WAY TMI. Back a few weeks ago, when I’d been lobbying for a much later wedding date, Boss had indicated that the later dates were off-limits because of proximity to Bridezilla’s menstrual cycle, and then before I had time to jam my fingers in my ears and sing “La,La,La!” he told me the precise date of her last period and the date we could expect her next one. Oh, hurl.
Nonetheless, based on this unwelcome but unavoidable bit of data, I instinctively knew when Bridezilla could be expected to ovulate, and it was. Right. About. Now. Yessiree. Boss and Bridezilla shelved Zilla’s vocal television debut because she was preparing to release an egg.
And that’s not all. A couple of days later, after their journey back home, they attended a fairly large gathering at which Boss had been asked to speak. Zilla herself recounted to me later that as Boss addressed the crowd, she felt a “painful pop,” and when Boss introduced his new wife to the throng, she announced that the cyst on her ovary had just burst. Woo hoo.
I’m entirely confident that Bridezilla had NO idea that she had just proclaimed to all and sundry her first ovulation as a married woman. Or that she, now off pelvic rest, was about to become Pregzilla.
I came home and instructed Dh to mark down the first full week of August in his planner – because I predicted this was the week that Boss would be adding another nut to the family granola.
Were they afraid their more rustic friends and relatives would organize an unnerving shivaree? (I suspect the answer to this one is “Yes!” and secrecy was probably a good call on their part.) Did Boss worry that a one of his jilted lady friends, in a jealous rage, would hire a hit man to ambush the newlywed suite and do away with his blushing new bride? Was he nervous that a disgruntled former associate might sabotage his vehicle overnight and wreck their honeymoon plans? We may never know for sure, but I don’t put any fear completely outside the domain of Boss’ neuroses.
Regardless of motive, this silent treatment was remarkably odd, because boss is typically overflowing with extraneous details. In fact, in the many months since I had been in Boss’ employ, I could expect from three to five calls per day from his cell, even on holidays, even if he was out of town.
Boss is quite unreserved, so I could expect to spend no less than 15 minutes per call trading opinions on issues about which I never realized I needed to be incisive. For instance, whether McDonalds utilizes “real” chicken for their McNuggets, whether cell termination fees are legal, whether the fluoride in toothpaste is toxic over time, or whether that burger he’d grabbed from Hardee’s was liable to agree with his innards. All this in addition to the numerous business-related discussions we would have over the course of the hectic workday.
As the wedding had drawn nearer and nearer, and I’d heard NOTHING about where he and Bridezilla were going, how long they’d be gone, or even what the heck I should do about the pressing day-to-day business decisions I’d have to make in his absence, I was quite astonished. But there was zero. No calls, no notes on my desk, no explanatory emails. Knowing Boss’ penchant for last minute directives, I kept looking for something just around the corner, but nada.
I’ll have to admit, I was half anticipating this shutdown of contact. You see, Boss had previously experienced no gender barriers to his communication. He liberally made cell calls to other females with the same sense of freedom that he felt to call one of his sisters, or his mom. No strings attached, no apparent ulterior motives, no seductive intentions. He is unfailingly kindhearted, gregarious and compassionate. He is notorious for giving friendly, spontaneous hugs to people of all ages, even upon first meeting. Whatever woman agreed to be the other half of this expressive individual would have to be okay with all the love he liked to spread.
Bridezilla had been in a romance-induced stupor for a bit during the preceding weeks, but sometime close to the wedding, she apparently realized she WASN’T okay with her fiancé’s bountiful chatting and serial embracing after all. She hadn’t known Boss well, obviously, but even though she recognized that he was REALLY outgoing early on, I don’t believe she was prepared for the sheer volume of women that regularly come rustling through his personal space.
Or for his frame of mind about some of those women. Preening his ego he might have been, but he remained genuinely convinced that, in spite of his personal disinterest, many of these women fervently yearned for his carnal attentions. By virtue of his long years of bachelorhood, during which he felt the need to recurrently remind himself and any bystanders that he still had it “goin’ on”, Boss often disclosed his hunches that a particular woman or other had made desperate attempts to get him alone. When he became affianced to Zilla, I think that bravado was compounded by Boss’ desire to reinforce in her mind the concept that she had made a PRIME catch. So, Boss had no qualms about amusing Bridezilla with bygone tales of thwarted passion. The breakdown was that poor Zilla wasn’t amused. She became suspicious. And a little ticked.
(How suspicious? How ticked? Later, in the flurry of fantasy during which we imagined that Bridezilla would become Boss’ executive assistant, I noticed that the business cell phone bill had mysteriously disappeared. All umpteen pages of it. Mmmmhmm. I deduced later that Bridezilla had swiped that thing and gone over it with a fine-toothed comb. I imagine she was none-too-pleased to see that there were HUNDREDS of calls to a whole host of females (including me) over the course of the month in question, adding up to DOZENS of hours. Even now, months later, the cell bill will intermittently appear on my desk with only the statement page present, and I know Zilla has struck again. I envision her holed up with Boss’ contact list and a calculator, furiously deciphering who he’s been talking to and for how long. All I know is, MY cell phone is now utterly devoid of calls from Boss, and I’m no longer required to thrash out whether Bill Gates will really come across with that $250 if Boss forwards that email to ten people. )
Post-wedding, almost all executive communication now comes through Boss’ sister, who is also on staff in our office. The honeymoon was no different. We got updates on the conjugal goings-on two, sometimes three times per day. They had a nice trip to points south. Beautiful scenery, so relaxing.
And Bridezilla was getting sick. She was having mild abdominal pain, but so disquieted was Zilla, and so concerned was her Dh, that he had rushed her to the emergency room. Boss got word to us that she had cystitis. I could tell from his message that he wasn’t quite sure what that was, but he feared it was serious. We married ladies around the office giggled a little. Some of us had experienced a bladder infection on our honeymoons too. But poor Zilla; even though the ER doc gave her some meds, they apparently didn’t tell her what was causing the problem or what she should do about it, so she got even sicker.
You know how, after it’s been a REALLY long time since you’ve been to the theater, and you finally go – the popcorn smells SO good, you just can’t resist, so you buy a BIG TUB, with extra butter, and before you know it, you’ve eaten it ALL, because you can’t get enough POPCORN? Well, that’s how it must have been for Boss, only not with popcorn – well, YES with popcorn, only not the movie kind, the Fishie kind. Anyway, I think one of his sisters set him straight on exactly what was going on, and how Bridezilla might be able to, um, alleviate that problem by a quick trip to the facilities after . But I heard that he blamed himself, because he just couldn’t get enough popcorn, which was WAY more info than I wanted to know.
Once the newlyweds got to the bottom of the cause of the first problem, and the antibiotics started to kick in, they did a little day-tripping at their honeymoon destination. They even attended the taping of a television show, during which the host had interviewed them and given a special celebratory gift to commemorate their marriage, and invited Bridezilla to come back and SING at the next show taping.
Sadly, it was not to be, because before the clock struck midnight, Bridezilla was back in the emergency room with more abdominal pain. The doctor ordered some tests. One of the tests showed that Bridezilla had a functional cyst on one of her ovaries. The doctor shared the results, emphasizing that he wasn’t concerned about this, and given Zilla’s latest health trouble, he thought the pain was probably associated with the increased activity in this region of late , so he put Bridezilla on a day or two of pelvic rest. BWAHAHAHAHA. Just what Boss wanted to hear on his HONEYMOON!!!
Meanwhile, Zilla was flipping out about the cyst on her ovary, and recruited Boss to join her. Of course, the two of them asked no questions of the medical professionals, conducted no research, they just spread the horrid news with what they considered appropriate gravity. Bridezilla has (sniff, sniff ) a functional cyst on her ovary. (Yes, dearhearts. Zilla is a fertile female of childbearing age, so yes, she WOULD have cysts on her ovaries. Those are called eggs, and they are ripening and preparing to burst and consequently be available for fertilization. It’s called ovulation. You may have heard this term before?)
But oh, no. This news drove Zilla to take to her abstinent bed. Boss called the TV show and notified them that Bridezilla couldn’t come to sing because they had just received the report that she had a cyst on her ovary. Accckkk.
As I may have mentioned before, Boss has a habit of sharing WAY TMI. Back a few weeks ago, when I’d been lobbying for a much later wedding date, Boss had indicated that the later dates were off-limits because of proximity to Bridezilla’s menstrual cycle, and then before I had time to jam my fingers in my ears and sing “La,La,La!” he told me the precise date of her last period and the date we could expect her next one. Oh, hurl.
Nonetheless, based on this unwelcome but unavoidable bit of data, I instinctively knew when Bridezilla could be expected to ovulate, and it was. Right. About. Now. Yessiree. Boss and Bridezilla shelved Zilla’s vocal television debut because she was preparing to release an egg.
And that’s not all. A couple of days later, after their journey back home, they attended a fairly large gathering at which Boss had been asked to speak. Zilla herself recounted to me later that as Boss addressed the crowd, she felt a “painful pop,” and when Boss introduced his new wife to the throng, she announced that the cyst on her ovary had just burst. Woo hoo.
I’m entirely confident that Bridezilla had NO idea that she had just proclaimed to all and sundry her first ovulation as a married woman. Or that she, now off pelvic rest, was about to become Pregzilla.
I came home and instructed Dh to mark down the first full week of August in his planner – because I predicted this was the week that Boss would be adding another nut to the family granola.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Appendix I: The Official Pregzilla FAQ
I have realized that in an effort to provide you with accurate reporting, I have totally dissed most of your questions.
1.Are you absolutely sure that these are real people that you are telling us about???????? I could supply you with their names, addresses and cell numbers, but then, of course, I’d have to kill you.
2.Honestly... Really..... Seriously ?? As a heart attack.
3. Were there any wagers placed on how long it would be before Bridezilla now Pregzilla would turn into Ex-zilla? There have been none. Their bloodlines seem to have quite a bit of forbearance for misery. Let’s just suffice it to say that Pregzilla’s parents don’t appear to be any longer in a state of wedded bliss, but claim the same mailing address. Boss’ folks don’t even live in the same town, yet are still legally husband and wife. So I think there’s a tremendous precedent here to stick with the routine regardless of degree of difficulty.
4.Is she his trophy wife? He THOUGHT she was his trophy wife, but it was an optical illusion. Once the first trimester nausea set in, the makeup came off.
5.Please tell me there was a prenup? Well…..each of them began this adventure flat broke, so there’s noplace to go but up. Hard to exceed the credit limits on charge cards you can’t get. I'm guessing that if one of them cleaned out the bank accounts and ran off with the money, they’d be able to get maybe as far as the state line, after all the ER and immediate care visits of the last several months. I’m just saying.
6.I hope you're printing this out for his next wife to read and laugh hysterically at. This is not really a question, but it deserves an answer anyway. Hork! (Can I borrow that, Natty?) If you were a prospective spouse, wouldn’t just the first installment of this mess make you want to run far, far away???
7.Did he really think she would be good wife? Yes, naturally. He didn’t consider himself able to pick anything but the perfect mate.
8.What were they doing in the car at that Speedway? Calculating their gas mileage???
9.Although, considering the courtship, engagement and impending new spawn, Speedway is somewhat fitting, is it not? Hadn’t thought about it, but that’s an excellent point!
10.Did the van thing, at the Arby’s, REALLY happen? Scouts’ honor. And I had even left supper for my sons at home with Dh ; they just decided on a whim that they’d rather have a boys night out at the very restaurant that the Japanese students happened to request along the 72 mile journey (I just Mapquested it. Shoooeee, I didn't know it was that far!) to the bridal shower. No cell phone coordination of plans, no preknowledge of itinerary. So you see, it was DESTINY that we transported our Asian visitors, and company, to that party.
11.When exactly is Pregzilla due? Officially, August 7. Her OB happens to also be MY doctor, so I don’t think they’d be bold enough to fudge the date for fear I’d find out somehow.
12.What if she's planting the early delivery seed because she was already pregnant(not by her Dh)?? Hmmm. Planting the seed. Clever play on words there. You know, that possibility had never crossed my mind until you mentioned it. But….. Nah, couldn’t be.………. Hmmmm……. No, surely not……????
13.Is he planning on a paternity test? I mean, stranger things have happened, but I really, truly think this baby’s gotta be his.
14.I wonder who raised her??? Pregzilla, unfortunately was raised by people who still, although she is broke and pregnant with her first child, call HER for financial assistance and moral support. And so was Boss. So you can kind of see where their behavior might actually be a step UP from the lives they’ve known.
15.I wonder how her child is going to turn out??? So do I. Lamentably, I already have a gut feeling. Where’s the alien graemlin?
16.How long have you been working for this guy? A couple of years, although we’ve known him a few longer than that.
17.Has being around him always been this...ummm...well, the word "crazy" just doesn't seem to fit...how about challenging, hilarious, chaotic and somehow dysfunctional? Absolutely. (Brilliant choice of adjectives, BTW. My job in a nutshell. ) There’s never a dull moment. I feel like “Miss Jane” from the Beverly Hillbillies.
18.OMG how do you work for this man day in and day out? Okay, I know this will make NO sense, but if you all actually MET him, I’d wager 95% of you would LIKE him. He doesn’t make a deeply weird first impression, oddly enough. And he’s a seriously nice guy…. Oh, crap, I can’t explain it.
19.Are you paid well for your job? You mean, like, with money?? That would be a negative, Ghostrider, and I can’t tell you my hourly wage because Boss forbids it. But since a great degree of my job satisfaction comes from the entertainment value, I consider myself handsomely compensated. Wouldn’t you?
20.Do you have to laugh alone or do any other employees tag along? During times of extreme outlandishness, we try not to make eye contact. The radically flaky nature of these characters is the elephant in the room that nobody talks about. Sometimes we do catch each other with gobsmacked looks on our faces, though. Yeah. Gobsmacked. Look that up.
21.What makes him think he should be given free carpeting? Oh, you’ve no idea. The bigger question is why WOULDN’T anyone want to give him free carpeting? This guy is just charming. He secured free rent on the building that houses our non-profit headquarters. The owner is THRILLED to provide it. His three bedroom residence? Free rent from that owner too, just because he’s a great guy. I could go on and on. And honestly, he makes a REAL clear delineation between tax-deductible donations to the non-profit and any personal gifts to himself. People just like giving this guy stuff.
22.When are you going to write the next chapter? Well, I do have a job. And I certainly can’t crank out these stories on my WORK computer. Neither can I stay home JUST to write, and come to think of it, if I did, I’d run out of material for the Pregzilla Chronicles in short order.
23.Are you sure this isn't just a screenplay for an absurd comedy and we're the unwitting test subjects? Oh, boy, do I wish I could make a living off this story. But alas, it’s just my highly amusing life, which will remain just between us password-enabled Fishies – unless possibly sanitized by the passage of many years, or the parting of the ways, or some sort of author protection program. Maybe I should call Salman Rushdie?
24.What will I ever do to keep myself entertained until the next installment? Don’t worry, I still have several Boss & Pregzilla chapters under my hat, all I need is time to flesh them out so that you can see what I saw….
So, until next time…. (Seriously you guys, I’m having so much fun just describing this for you all! I've been bursting with these stories for MONTHS with no one to tell them to but Dh!! So thank YOU!! )
1.Are you absolutely sure that these are real people that you are telling us about???????? I could supply you with their names, addresses and cell numbers, but then, of course, I’d have to kill you.
2.Honestly... Really..... Seriously ?? As a heart attack.
3. Were there any wagers placed on how long it would be before Bridezilla now Pregzilla would turn into Ex-zilla? There have been none. Their bloodlines seem to have quite a bit of forbearance for misery. Let’s just suffice it to say that Pregzilla’s parents don’t appear to be any longer in a state of wedded bliss, but claim the same mailing address. Boss’ folks don’t even live in the same town, yet are still legally husband and wife. So I think there’s a tremendous precedent here to stick with the routine regardless of degree of difficulty.
4.Is she his trophy wife? He THOUGHT she was his trophy wife, but it was an optical illusion. Once the first trimester nausea set in, the makeup came off.
5.Please tell me there was a prenup? Well…..each of them began this adventure flat broke, so there’s noplace to go but up. Hard to exceed the credit limits on charge cards you can’t get. I'm guessing that if one of them cleaned out the bank accounts and ran off with the money, they’d be able to get maybe as far as the state line, after all the ER and immediate care visits of the last several months. I’m just saying.
6.I hope you're printing this out for his next wife to read and laugh hysterically at. This is not really a question, but it deserves an answer anyway. Hork! (Can I borrow that, Natty?) If you were a prospective spouse, wouldn’t just the first installment of this mess make you want to run far, far away???
7.Did he really think she would be good wife? Yes, naturally. He didn’t consider himself able to pick anything but the perfect mate.
8.What were they doing in the car at that Speedway? Calculating their gas mileage???
9.Although, considering the courtship, engagement and impending new spawn, Speedway is somewhat fitting, is it not? Hadn’t thought about it, but that’s an excellent point!
10.Did the van thing, at the Arby’s, REALLY happen? Scouts’ honor. And I had even left supper for my sons at home with Dh ; they just decided on a whim that they’d rather have a boys night out at the very restaurant that the Japanese students happened to request along the 72 mile journey (I just Mapquested it. Shoooeee, I didn't know it was that far!) to the bridal shower. No cell phone coordination of plans, no preknowledge of itinerary. So you see, it was DESTINY that we transported our Asian visitors, and company, to that party.
11.When exactly is Pregzilla due? Officially, August 7. Her OB happens to also be MY doctor, so I don’t think they’d be bold enough to fudge the date for fear I’d find out somehow.
12.What if she's planting the early delivery seed because she was already pregnant(not by her Dh)?? Hmmm. Planting the seed. Clever play on words there. You know, that possibility had never crossed my mind until you mentioned it. But….. Nah, couldn’t be.………. Hmmmm……. No, surely not……????
13.Is he planning on a paternity test? I mean, stranger things have happened, but I really, truly think this baby’s gotta be his.
14.I wonder who raised her??? Pregzilla, unfortunately was raised by people who still, although she is broke and pregnant with her first child, call HER for financial assistance and moral support. And so was Boss. So you can kind of see where their behavior might actually be a step UP from the lives they’ve known.
15.I wonder how her child is going to turn out??? So do I. Lamentably, I already have a gut feeling. Where’s the alien graemlin?
16.How long have you been working for this guy? A couple of years, although we’ve known him a few longer than that.
17.Has being around him always been this...ummm...well, the word "crazy" just doesn't seem to fit...how about challenging, hilarious, chaotic and somehow dysfunctional? Absolutely. (Brilliant choice of adjectives, BTW. My job in a nutshell. ) There’s never a dull moment. I feel like “Miss Jane” from the Beverly Hillbillies.
18.OMG how do you work for this man day in and day out? Okay, I know this will make NO sense, but if you all actually MET him, I’d wager 95% of you would LIKE him. He doesn’t make a deeply weird first impression, oddly enough. And he’s a seriously nice guy…. Oh, crap, I can’t explain it.
19.Are you paid well for your job? You mean, like, with money?? That would be a negative, Ghostrider, and I can’t tell you my hourly wage because Boss forbids it. But since a great degree of my job satisfaction comes from the entertainment value, I consider myself handsomely compensated. Wouldn’t you?
20.Do you have to laugh alone or do any other employees tag along? During times of extreme outlandishness, we try not to make eye contact. The radically flaky nature of these characters is the elephant in the room that nobody talks about. Sometimes we do catch each other with gobsmacked looks on our faces, though. Yeah. Gobsmacked. Look that up.
21.What makes him think he should be given free carpeting? Oh, you’ve no idea. The bigger question is why WOULDN’T anyone want to give him free carpeting? This guy is just charming. He secured free rent on the building that houses our non-profit headquarters. The owner is THRILLED to provide it. His three bedroom residence? Free rent from that owner too, just because he’s a great guy. I could go on and on. And honestly, he makes a REAL clear delineation between tax-deductible donations to the non-profit and any personal gifts to himself. People just like giving this guy stuff.
22.When are you going to write the next chapter? Well, I do have a job. And I certainly can’t crank out these stories on my WORK computer. Neither can I stay home JUST to write, and come to think of it, if I did, I’d run out of material for the Pregzilla Chronicles in short order.
23.Are you sure this isn't just a screenplay for an absurd comedy and we're the unwitting test subjects? Oh, boy, do I wish I could make a living off this story. But alas, it’s just my highly amusing life, which will remain just between us password-enabled Fishies – unless possibly sanitized by the passage of many years, or the parting of the ways, or some sort of author protection program. Maybe I should call Salman Rushdie?
24.What will I ever do to keep myself entertained until the next installment? Don’t worry, I still have several Boss & Pregzilla chapters under my hat, all I need is time to flesh them out so that you can see what I saw….
So, until next time…. (Seriously you guys, I’m having so much fun just describing this for you all! I've been bursting with these stories for MONTHS with no one to tell them to but Dh!! So thank YOU!! )
Chapter 6 - Bridezilla: The Wedding Files
I assure you, the events and characters depicted in this account (and all the others) are real. The details are accurate, albeit skewed from my point of view. Any similarity to actual persons is totally verifiable, but I will refuse to do so. The names have been changed to protect the implicated.
Due to having been pressed into service as an emergency caterer , I didn’t get the thrill of being present for the whole ceremony, but I can provide the highlights.
After Bridezilla shrilly (I heard her shrieking from the church kitchen ) banished the wedding party from her bridal chamber for some “she” time, the maid of honor (AKA: Maid of Onher ) wandered around the corridors of the church halfheartedly disparaging Bzill’s temperament. It was evident MOH was trying to be gracious, taking into account that Bridezilla had been railroaded into this occasion on a veritable bullet train, but at the same time, MOH was feeling significantly underappreciated. (understatement alert)
You might remember that MOH had been an eleventh-hour substitute, designated by the groom, because all Bridezilla’s friends had abandoned ship. Boss had made this particular choice for MOH because Bzill had seemed to “hit it off” with this woman the one time she met her. Okay, taking Bzilla’s side for a moment, can you imagine asking someone to be your maid of honor that you had met ONE time?
Since accepting the honor of being head attendant, MOH had stepped up to help host the bridal shower , provide connections whereby the tuxes and gowns were obtained (wholesale, I might add), help shop for said clothing, provide quite a bit of the materials (and labor) to create the bouquets, decorate the church and reception hall, and had outfitted her toddler daughter adorably as a flower girl. All in a space of less than 2 weeks. So yeah, underappreciated about covers it.
Inside the auditorium, the music had begun, right on schedule. There were lots of guests, which I thought was just short of miraculous since every summons had been via word of mouth. Remember, no time for invitations.
I don’t remember exactly at what hour the wedding was supposed to begin, but at the appointed time, Bridezilla wasn’t dressed yet. It was okay though, because the best man had left his tux somewhere , AND the groom’s socks were AWOL. (I’m a little fuzzy on the exact details of the oversights, because I was otherwise occupied with 500 pieces of chicken and several gallons of baked beans.)
While reconnaissance missions were executed for the missing items, the musician in the auditorium, who had been recruited to provide no more than interim keyboard music, decided that the delay provided a grand opportunity for a full-fledged, by-the-seat-of-his-pants concert. He is a burgeoning performer, and has a pretty good voice, so it wasn’t unpleasant, just REALLY weird, because obviously, the audience hadn’t COME to see his show. Dh said he really got into it, crooning and emoting all over the place. Since, with this crew, wacky is a way of life, the whole state of affairs was oddly appropriate.
At last, the wedding party was dressed, in place, and ready to go. I had come out of the kitchen to watch the processional. Bridezilla wasn’t the only member of the wedding party who was having a meltdown. MOH’s young daughter, one of the 3 flower girls, had missed her afternoon nap and was panicking at the idea of being physically separated from her mother in front of a crowd of strangers. Rather than disrupt the ceremony further, MOH handed the shrieking toddler over to her dh, who took her to a remote location in the church, where she could still be heard but not quite so LOUDLY. Little miss continued her paroxysms of grief through the entire ceremony, and MOH’s dh missed the whole thing.
I cut out to go back to the kitchen after the processional, but dh said the service was a little unusual (imagine that). Boss’ clergy of choice was an outspoken mentor of his. He is from out of state, had been shipped in at unnecessary expense, and looks like Colonel Sanders, right down to the white goatee. As testified by several in attendance, it became noticeable during the ceremony that he had not performed many weddings, as he kept losing his place in the vows, and several times asked the bride and groom what came next. Do I really need to tell you that there had been no wedding rehearsal? You guessed it already, I know!
One of the highlights of the service was the foot-washing ceremony. An unusual feature at a wedding, for sure, but it was added because the bride and groom wished to demonstrate their willingness to serve one another. I was able to sneak into the balcony, accompanied by the SIL with whom I was doing the slapdash catering, just in time to witness this ritual.
Bride and groom each had his/her own water basin. As the groom knelt and clumsily unbuckled the bride’s sandals, I gripped the SIL’s arm with my NAILS. I had just noticed, with unembellished HORROR, that those water bowls were actually SERVING BOWLS from our place of business. Oh. My. Gosh. One was a decorative chip bowl used for events and luncheons, the other was my favorite biscuit mixing bowl for breakfasts we hosted. SIL and I ALMOST squealed and/or gagged.
(Sure enough, BTW, those bowls showed back up in their places in our kitchen the week after Boss and Bridezilla returned from their honeymoon. Just so you know, as soon as I laid eyes on them, I slithered out the back door and buried them in the dumpster. :x )
After the pronouncement came the photo montage, documenting both lives from birth to marriage. Boss’ portion was longer because frankly, he’s had more life. We spectators thought we’d watch the age-morphing, catch a couple final frames of the happy couple and the wedding would be done, but Boss’ family members are just PROLIFIC videographers and picture-takers, there’s no other way to put it. So even though Boss & Bridezilla had only been entangled a few weeks, there were just DOZENS of posed photos of them. It was mind-numbing.
SIL and I skipped out of the receiving line queue to see if there were any last-second needs in the kitchen, where the wedding coordinator, another of Boss’ plants, was tying up the loose ends of what we’d been toiling over all afternoon. I'll have to say she was very gracious and even tempered and didn't even look like she wanted to strangle anybody.
The guests wolfed down the chicken & veggies and guzzled the beverages. My youngest DS helped himself to a fingerful of icing off one of the side sheets at the cake table. ( The kid LOVES cake, I was a little preoccupied and dh wasn’t watching him every minute either. Oh well.)
Finally the bride and groom arrived in the reception hall, after the pictures and the ambulance visit. They entered to the Theme from “Rocky”. It was the song they specifically chose for their grand entrance. Now, think about that and all you know about the longevity and relationship of Boss & Bridezilla. I did, didn’t understand, and don’t want to mull it over again, really. But what could that MEAN??? The Theme from “Rocky”?????
The DJ at the reception was the same musician who had provided the tunes at the ceremony. He was a rock star coming down off a concert high. He was also TERRIBLE as a DJ. But he soon had to leave for another engagement. I can’t explain to you how predictably random it was to watch the DJ packing up his toys to go home just after the reception began.
The good news was that Boss’ BIL took over, who was a REAL disc jockey in a former lifetime and just “happened” to have a few CDs in his vehicle. He rocked, so the event ended on a high note.
Except that after all the guests left, we realized that Boss and Bridezilla hadn’t enlisted anyone to set the venue back to rights. But there we were, my family and I and some of the in-laws, and we suddenly had, poetically speaking, miles to go before we slept.
Stay tuned for Chapter 7- Pregzilla: Notes from the Honeymoon
Reesesmom made a much-too-late but much more creative suggestion than trashing the footwashing bowls: I think I would have left them and the next time you hosted a breakfast...I would just keep saying "I smell feet"...
Due to having been pressed into service as an emergency caterer , I didn’t get the thrill of being present for the whole ceremony, but I can provide the highlights.
After Bridezilla shrilly (I heard her shrieking from the church kitchen ) banished the wedding party from her bridal chamber for some “she” time, the maid of honor (AKA: Maid of Onher ) wandered around the corridors of the church halfheartedly disparaging Bzill’s temperament. It was evident MOH was trying to be gracious, taking into account that Bridezilla had been railroaded into this occasion on a veritable bullet train, but at the same time, MOH was feeling significantly underappreciated. (understatement alert)
You might remember that MOH had been an eleventh-hour substitute, designated by the groom, because all Bridezilla’s friends had abandoned ship. Boss had made this particular choice for MOH because Bzill had seemed to “hit it off” with this woman the one time she met her. Okay, taking Bzilla’s side for a moment, can you imagine asking someone to be your maid of honor that you had met ONE time?
Since accepting the honor of being head attendant, MOH had stepped up to help host the bridal shower , provide connections whereby the tuxes and gowns were obtained (wholesale, I might add), help shop for said clothing, provide quite a bit of the materials (and labor) to create the bouquets, decorate the church and reception hall, and had outfitted her toddler daughter adorably as a flower girl. All in a space of less than 2 weeks. So yeah, underappreciated about covers it.
Inside the auditorium, the music had begun, right on schedule. There were lots of guests, which I thought was just short of miraculous since every summons had been via word of mouth. Remember, no time for invitations.
I don’t remember exactly at what hour the wedding was supposed to begin, but at the appointed time, Bridezilla wasn’t dressed yet. It was okay though, because the best man had left his tux somewhere , AND the groom’s socks were AWOL. (I’m a little fuzzy on the exact details of the oversights, because I was otherwise occupied with 500 pieces of chicken and several gallons of baked beans.)
While reconnaissance missions were executed for the missing items, the musician in the auditorium, who had been recruited to provide no more than interim keyboard music, decided that the delay provided a grand opportunity for a full-fledged, by-the-seat-of-his-pants concert. He is a burgeoning performer, and has a pretty good voice, so it wasn’t unpleasant, just REALLY weird, because obviously, the audience hadn’t COME to see his show. Dh said he really got into it, crooning and emoting all over the place. Since, with this crew, wacky is a way of life, the whole state of affairs was oddly appropriate.
At last, the wedding party was dressed, in place, and ready to go. I had come out of the kitchen to watch the processional. Bridezilla wasn’t the only member of the wedding party who was having a meltdown. MOH’s young daughter, one of the 3 flower girls, had missed her afternoon nap and was panicking at the idea of being physically separated from her mother in front of a crowd of strangers. Rather than disrupt the ceremony further, MOH handed the shrieking toddler over to her dh, who took her to a remote location in the church, where she could still be heard but not quite so LOUDLY. Little miss continued her paroxysms of grief through the entire ceremony, and MOH’s dh missed the whole thing.
I cut out to go back to the kitchen after the processional, but dh said the service was a little unusual (imagine that). Boss’ clergy of choice was an outspoken mentor of his. He is from out of state, had been shipped in at unnecessary expense, and looks like Colonel Sanders, right down to the white goatee. As testified by several in attendance, it became noticeable during the ceremony that he had not performed many weddings, as he kept losing his place in the vows, and several times asked the bride and groom what came next. Do I really need to tell you that there had been no wedding rehearsal? You guessed it already, I know!
One of the highlights of the service was the foot-washing ceremony. An unusual feature at a wedding, for sure, but it was added because the bride and groom wished to demonstrate their willingness to serve one another. I was able to sneak into the balcony, accompanied by the SIL with whom I was doing the slapdash catering, just in time to witness this ritual.
Bride and groom each had his/her own water basin. As the groom knelt and clumsily unbuckled the bride’s sandals, I gripped the SIL’s arm with my NAILS. I had just noticed, with unembellished HORROR, that those water bowls were actually SERVING BOWLS from our place of business. Oh. My. Gosh. One was a decorative chip bowl used for events and luncheons, the other was my favorite biscuit mixing bowl for breakfasts we hosted. SIL and I ALMOST squealed and/or gagged.
(Sure enough, BTW, those bowls showed back up in their places in our kitchen the week after Boss and Bridezilla returned from their honeymoon. Just so you know, as soon as I laid eyes on them, I slithered out the back door and buried them in the dumpster. :x )
After the pronouncement came the photo montage, documenting both lives from birth to marriage. Boss’ portion was longer because frankly, he’s had more life. We spectators thought we’d watch the age-morphing, catch a couple final frames of the happy couple and the wedding would be done, but Boss’ family members are just PROLIFIC videographers and picture-takers, there’s no other way to put it. So even though Boss & Bridezilla had only been entangled a few weeks, there were just DOZENS of posed photos of them. It was mind-numbing.
SIL and I skipped out of the receiving line queue to see if there were any last-second needs in the kitchen, where the wedding coordinator, another of Boss’ plants, was tying up the loose ends of what we’d been toiling over all afternoon. I'll have to say she was very gracious and even tempered and didn't even look like she wanted to strangle anybody.
The guests wolfed down the chicken & veggies and guzzled the beverages. My youngest DS helped himself to a fingerful of icing off one of the side sheets at the cake table. ( The kid LOVES cake, I was a little preoccupied and dh wasn’t watching him every minute either. Oh well.)
Finally the bride and groom arrived in the reception hall, after the pictures and the ambulance visit. They entered to the Theme from “Rocky”. It was the song they specifically chose for their grand entrance. Now, think about that and all you know about the longevity and relationship of Boss & Bridezilla. I did, didn’t understand, and don’t want to mull it over again, really. But what could that MEAN??? The Theme from “Rocky”?????
The DJ at the reception was the same musician who had provided the tunes at the ceremony. He was a rock star coming down off a concert high. He was also TERRIBLE as a DJ. But he soon had to leave for another engagement. I can’t explain to you how predictably random it was to watch the DJ packing up his toys to go home just after the reception began.
The good news was that Boss’ BIL took over, who was a REAL disc jockey in a former lifetime and just “happened” to have a few CDs in his vehicle. He rocked, so the event ended on a high note.
Except that after all the guests left, we realized that Boss and Bridezilla hadn’t enlisted anyone to set the venue back to rights. But there we were, my family and I and some of the in-laws, and we suddenly had, poetically speaking, miles to go before we slept.
Stay tuned for Chapter 7- Pregzilla: Notes from the Honeymoon
Reesesmom made a much-too-late but much more creative suggestion than trashing the footwashing bowls: I think I would have left them and the next time you hosted a breakfast...I would just keep saying "I smell feet"...
Chapter 5 - Pregzilla: Called on the Carpet
Boss brought up the delivery date subject out of thin air at the office this week. "You saw her," he chirped eagerly. "You think she's going to go early, don't you?" he accused, as though he believes that her gestational maturity must surely occupy my every waking thought. (Um, sure, that's JUST what I was pondering. How did he know???? Not. )
He seemed deflated when I told him that firstborns are statistically likely to be late, and that the size of the baby doesn't have that much to do with "ripeness", in my admittedly limited experience. (I mean, I've only had seven kids.) I get the idea that Pregzilla & Boss are secretly peeved that there are precedents for childbirth. They are out to break all the records. They are definitely sure that they are going to produce the biggest, smartest, most athletic, earliest-yet-healthiest babe on the face of the planet.
Boss subsequently chatted about the carpet remnant he was in search of, for the baby's room. I was kind of surprised - I knew for a fact that their carpet had been in pristine condition just weeks ago. Well, not anymore. Seems an insurgent table lamp had vaulted off a dresser and broken its bulb. All by itself. Or perhaps pushed. By evil spirits. Or by the ghost of Pregzilla's cat, which died recently.
It was just an incandescent bulb, NOT even a CFL(I asked), but Pregzilla flipped out, declaring a hazardous mercury spill and demanded that Boss immediately rip up the hazardous carpeting and pad all the way to the subfloor. Which he immediately did.
Now, I know they've got a vacuum, because boss has previously pointed out that he's been doing the family sweeping, as Pregzilla isn’t and hasn’t ever been able to drag the heavy machine back and forth across the carpet. Or push a heavy dishrag back and forth across a dirty plate, or push a heavy spatula back and forth across a non-stick skillet, among other things, but I digress.
Instead of merely vacuuming up the bulb fragments, they’re planning to replace the carpet, which honestly, they can ill-afford to do. And because Pregzilla didn’t actually RESEARCH any of her misconceived notions, and neither did Boss, they don’t know that regular light bulbs don’t contain mercury. (And frankly, though it’s somewhat debatable, even if it HAD been a CFL that broke, cleanup is pretty straightforward, and the mercury vapor would have been long dissipated by the time baby ever got a crack at the carpet. Particularly since the breakage WAS only in ONE small spot in the room.)
So, because of the afore mentioned challenged finances, they’re looking to get a remnant DONATED. What?? Can you imagine, having the cajones to walk into a flooring business and asking the salesperson to GIVE you a piece of carpeting and pad, enough to do a whole bedroom? I can just see bewilderment on the salesperson's face - "because you're pregnant and you are having a baby and you broke a lightbulb???"
"And twenty miles away, the river overflowed its levee, and the babies there would have poisoned, contaminated MUD to crawl on if their mamas put them down on the floor of what used to be their carpeted nurseries. And you had perfectly GOOD carpeting, but you broke a LIGHT BULB, (not even a "bad" one) and so you ripped UP the perfectly good carpeting and now you want me to GIVE you a replacement (with pad, don't forget the pad) big enough to cover the whole room. Right. Next."
That's my disagreeable daydream of what might happen. Realistically, knowing Boss, he'll probably get the free carpet, free pad and free installation to boot. Shoot, they'll probably throw in new carpet for our foyer at the office. Just you watch. I'll keep ya posted....
A sweet Fishie asked if I'd pointed out that the lightbulb was NOT mercurious:
Not after the poor gullible soul had already ripped up the carpet, no I didn't. He acts a lot on hearsay and jumps to conclusions quite a bit because he's too busy (and sometimes inept) to check out things for himself.
He's the type of person who will get one of those mass emails with the erroneous info (you know, the kind you can easily debunk with a simple Google or Snopes search) and spread the news like Gospel. Before his matrimony, I used to be able to head him off at the pass or at least catch him before he made himself look like a total fool. Since the wedding though, he and Pregzilla are pooling their ignorance and plowing on, and I don't have half a chance. I mean, don't get me wrong - I don't have egotistical delusions of matchless intellect or anything, but I can use a search box.
And as for why I stay on - other than the obvious captivating entertainment - I genuinely believe in the mission of our organization. It's 85% the best non-volunteer job I've ever had , 14.9% just plain unexplainable (although I do try... ) and only 0.1% completely intolerable. Those aren't bad numbers for a job, after all, right? I don't think many people can say they like their jobs as well as I do, so unless something changes for the much worse (which might happen at any moment ), I'm there!
He seemed deflated when I told him that firstborns are statistically likely to be late, and that the size of the baby doesn't have that much to do with "ripeness", in my admittedly limited experience. (I mean, I've only had seven kids.) I get the idea that Pregzilla & Boss are secretly peeved that there are precedents for childbirth. They are out to break all the records. They are definitely sure that they are going to produce the biggest, smartest, most athletic, earliest-yet-healthiest babe on the face of the planet.
Boss subsequently chatted about the carpet remnant he was in search of, for the baby's room. I was kind of surprised - I knew for a fact that their carpet had been in pristine condition just weeks ago. Well, not anymore. Seems an insurgent table lamp had vaulted off a dresser and broken its bulb. All by itself. Or perhaps pushed. By evil spirits. Or by the ghost of Pregzilla's cat, which died recently.
It was just an incandescent bulb, NOT even a CFL(I asked), but Pregzilla flipped out, declaring a hazardous mercury spill and demanded that Boss immediately rip up the hazardous carpeting and pad all the way to the subfloor. Which he immediately did.
Now, I know they've got a vacuum, because boss has previously pointed out that he's been doing the family sweeping, as Pregzilla isn’t and hasn’t ever been able to drag the heavy machine back and forth across the carpet. Or push a heavy dishrag back and forth across a dirty plate, or push a heavy spatula back and forth across a non-stick skillet, among other things, but I digress.
Instead of merely vacuuming up the bulb fragments, they’re planning to replace the carpet, which honestly, they can ill-afford to do. And because Pregzilla didn’t actually RESEARCH any of her misconceived notions, and neither did Boss, they don’t know that regular light bulbs don’t contain mercury. (And frankly, though it’s somewhat debatable, even if it HAD been a CFL that broke, cleanup is pretty straightforward, and the mercury vapor would have been long dissipated by the time baby ever got a crack at the carpet. Particularly since the breakage WAS only in ONE small spot in the room.)
So, because of the afore mentioned challenged finances, they’re looking to get a remnant DONATED. What?? Can you imagine, having the cajones to walk into a flooring business and asking the salesperson to GIVE you a piece of carpeting and pad, enough to do a whole bedroom? I can just see bewilderment on the salesperson's face - "because you're pregnant and you are having a baby and you broke a lightbulb???"
"And twenty miles away, the river overflowed its levee, and the babies there would have poisoned, contaminated MUD to crawl on if their mamas put them down on the floor of what used to be their carpeted nurseries. And you had perfectly GOOD carpeting, but you broke a LIGHT BULB, (not even a "bad" one) and so you ripped UP the perfectly good carpeting and now you want me to GIVE you a replacement (with pad, don't forget the pad) big enough to cover the whole room. Right. Next."
That's my disagreeable daydream of what might happen. Realistically, knowing Boss, he'll probably get the free carpet, free pad and free installation to boot. Shoot, they'll probably throw in new carpet for our foyer at the office. Just you watch. I'll keep ya posted....
A sweet Fishie asked if I'd pointed out that the lightbulb was NOT mercurious:
Not after the poor gullible soul had already ripped up the carpet, no I didn't. He acts a lot on hearsay and jumps to conclusions quite a bit because he's too busy (and sometimes inept) to check out things for himself.
He's the type of person who will get one of those mass emails with the erroneous info (you know, the kind you can easily debunk with a simple Google or Snopes search) and spread the news like Gospel. Before his matrimony, I used to be able to head him off at the pass or at least catch him before he made himself look like a total fool. Since the wedding though, he and Pregzilla are pooling their ignorance and plowing on, and I don't have half a chance. I mean, don't get me wrong - I don't have egotistical delusions of matchless intellect or anything, but I can use a search box.
And as for why I stay on - other than the obvious captivating entertainment - I genuinely believe in the mission of our organization. It's 85% the best non-volunteer job I've ever had , 14.9% just plain unexplainable (although I do try... ) and only 0.1% completely intolerable. Those aren't bad numbers for a job, after all, right? I don't think many people can say they like their jobs as well as I do, so unless something changes for the much worse (which might happen at any moment ), I'm there!
Chapter 1.5: Pregzilla: The Baby Shower Update
After all that stressing over what to say in an email reply to the tasteless invitation to Pregzilla's self-inflicted baby shower, I ended up being able to casually deliver my regrets in person at a ballgame. Whew.
I've said it before, but I really think she had NO notion that hosting a shower for herself was unseemly. Her husband was clueless, and her female in-laws seemed content to let her hang herself with her own rope . Heck, they HELPED!
And just for the record, those in my circle who accepted her invitation apparently WERE asked to pitch in a food item for the refreshment table. (I munched on leftover relish tray with Pregzilla's SIL at lunchtime yesterday. )
But, back to the ballgame. Pregzilla had been out of the public eye for a while, so she fielded several inquiries about her well-being during the game. Dh sat next to me, listening, until he couldn't keep a straight face anymore. Here's some of what she said, and keep in mind it was all said to people who have offspring of their own, and know better, which made it all the funnier:
"He's already nearly 12 inches. He's going to be really tall when he's born." That's right. TALL -- when he's BORN.
"At 30 weeks, the doctor said he was almost 4 pounds. There's no way I'll make it to my due date -- he'll come WAY early, I'm thinking mid-to-late July." Now, I'm not saying she won't go early, but what does the 4 pounds have to do with it? If her "little man" gains an ounce per day from now until her due date, he'll weigh about 8 pounds. Yep, ladies do birth 8+ lb babies, and yes Pregzilla, sometimes bigger ones. And sometimes, those big babies are LATE, not early. Ask the woman sitting behind you, who was a week overdue when she delivered her by no means recordbreaking 9.5 lb firstborn.
Back at the game, right on the heels of telling us about her 4 pound mammoth, Pregzilla regaled us with, "I've gained 40 pounds, but as you can see (smoothing down her shirt), it's all baby." This is where my dh excused himself so he could go double over with laughter in seclusion. The party with whom she was conversing just nodded numbly as they backed off and crept away. There were no words.
Pregzilla made a comment to the bleachers at large about how difficult it has been, but how worth it, to eat exclusively organically for the sake of the baby. (I wasn't aware that Taco Bell, Burger King and Chick-Fil-A have gone green, but I guess they must have.) And she's been drinking ONLY pure spring water - said as she was toasting a SIL with a Dasani, which in case you don't know, is bottled municipal filtered tap water. Hoo boy.
On to the baby shower, the details of which are few. There were a handful of people there. It went "okay." No further comment from the in-laws, which means it must have been a disappointment. From Boss' family came the $200 pack-n-play on the registry. The sole "large" gift. Only a smattering of the 2,000 diapers she requested, and an even smaller percentage of the 25,000 wipes. Seems some guests didn't get the memo and Pregzilla's spawn has experienced some degree of wardrobe growth in spite of her efforts to head it off.
I do think there was some fallout from Pregzilla throwing her own shindig. Boss, who I think is still clueless, mentioned on Monday the stress of having to deal with some unhappy family members "48 hours ago", which would have been just before the shower. Whether it was Pregzilla on a tear or genealogically obligated guests incensed with the ill-advised debacle, I'm not quite sure. Poor Boss.
I've said it before, but I really think she had NO notion that hosting a shower for herself was unseemly. Her husband was clueless, and her female in-laws seemed content to let her hang herself with her own rope . Heck, they HELPED!
And just for the record, those in my circle who accepted her invitation apparently WERE asked to pitch in a food item for the refreshment table. (I munched on leftover relish tray with Pregzilla's SIL at lunchtime yesterday. )
But, back to the ballgame. Pregzilla had been out of the public eye for a while, so she fielded several inquiries about her well-being during the game. Dh sat next to me, listening, until he couldn't keep a straight face anymore. Here's some of what she said, and keep in mind it was all said to people who have offspring of their own, and know better, which made it all the funnier:
"He's already nearly 12 inches. He's going to be really tall when he's born." That's right. TALL -- when he's BORN.
"At 30 weeks, the doctor said he was almost 4 pounds. There's no way I'll make it to my due date -- he'll come WAY early, I'm thinking mid-to-late July." Now, I'm not saying she won't go early, but what does the 4 pounds have to do with it? If her "little man" gains an ounce per day from now until her due date, he'll weigh about 8 pounds. Yep, ladies do birth 8+ lb babies, and yes Pregzilla, sometimes bigger ones. And sometimes, those big babies are LATE, not early. Ask the woman sitting behind you, who was a week overdue when she delivered her by no means recordbreaking 9.5 lb firstborn.
Back at the game, right on the heels of telling us about her 4 pound mammoth, Pregzilla regaled us with, "I've gained 40 pounds, but as you can see (smoothing down her shirt), it's all baby." This is where my dh excused himself so he could go double over with laughter in seclusion. The party with whom she was conversing just nodded numbly as they backed off and crept away. There were no words.
Pregzilla made a comment to the bleachers at large about how difficult it has been, but how worth it, to eat exclusively organically for the sake of the baby. (I wasn't aware that Taco Bell, Burger King and Chick-Fil-A have gone green, but I guess they must have.) And she's been drinking ONLY pure spring water - said as she was toasting a SIL with a Dasani, which in case you don't know, is bottled municipal filtered tap water. Hoo boy.
On to the baby shower, the details of which are few. There were a handful of people there. It went "okay." No further comment from the in-laws, which means it must have been a disappointment. From Boss' family came the $200 pack-n-play on the registry. The sole "large" gift. Only a smattering of the 2,000 diapers she requested, and an even smaller percentage of the 25,000 wipes. Seems some guests didn't get the memo and Pregzilla's spawn has experienced some degree of wardrobe growth in spite of her efforts to head it off.
I do think there was some fallout from Pregzilla throwing her own shindig. Boss, who I think is still clueless, mentioned on Monday the stress of having to deal with some unhappy family members "48 hours ago", which would have been just before the shower. Whether it was Pregzilla on a tear or genealogically obligated guests incensed with the ill-advised debacle, I'm not quite sure. Poor Boss.
Chapter 4 - The Courtship of BPZilla
After not having time to post for several days (work gets in the way of life sometimes, doesn't it?) I decided to change the order of disclosure a bit:
I know I promised (over a week ago) a synopsis of the wedding ceremony itself, but I realized that you really haven’t gotten a clear picture of the courtship/engagement yet, and it would get my knickers in a twist to go all out of chronological order like that.
Boss, as I think I’ve mentioned, is a little eccentric. And sometimes paranoid. Andheseesvisionsandhearsvoicesthereihavesaidit. And he has great faith that those visions and voices come from above. Sometimes, I tend to agree, weird though it may seem. Other times……. I’m pretty sure they have another point of origination. I’m just saying.
Like the whole marriage thing. He’s had quite a number of girlfriends over the years, and has carried with thinly veiled pride the idea that he’s a chick magnet. In some respects, I guess it’s true. He’s very emotional and passionate about his work, and let’s face it, passion is attractive. So over time, he’s garnered maybe more than his share of female attention. Mind-bogglingly YOUNG female attention.
Not that long ago, he was pretty much head over heels about a 21 year old girl. He met her on vacation. I saw pictures. She was a cute little blonde thing, who I noticed right off was dressed rather skimpily in the emailed pic I saw. He was thinking she was IT. After hearing that he was spending lots of time corresponding with her, and they were engaging in reciprocal thinking that each other was just the bees’ knees, I advised him to ask her dad for permission to have a relationship with her. Boss and Blondie’s dad had become pretty amiable during Boss’ vacation, so I thought it was a good plan. And I also suspected that her dad was going to think, “You creep, you’re nearly as old as I am! Keep your skanky hands OFF my untouched flower of a daughter.” Which is apparently pretty much what he DID think, although he used a much more gentle tack in actually breaking the news to Boss.
Interestingly, Boss never did ask me for romance advice again.
So then, Boss experienced a romantic dry spell, during which he vowed to not share any further details with anyone besides his closest confidantes, of which I am not one. Especially not after the advice that tanked his romance with Blondie. So, when B/PZilla showed up, all of us at the office kinda got blindsided. But not THAT blindsided, because we knew Boss must be spending a little extra time behind the scenes SOMEWHERE.
In fact, Dh and I went to the gas station once (ironically, right across the street from the Arby’s where my van magically appeared on the night of the bridal shower. I think it’s the anti-Bermuda Triangle, where things mysteriously appear instead of disappear…) and there was Boss’ vehicle parked in the corner of the parking lot. Okay, this gas station is like 15 miles away from anyplace he normally goes, and he had no appointments in this direction of which I was aware. Not that I am aware of EVERYTHING, but I mean, I see the guy’s Outlook schedule several times per day, so I’m pretty hip to what’s up.
We thought, okay, what are the chances we’d run into Boss HERE? Too weird. We drive up behind him and he SPRINGS forth from the vehicle. Glad to see us! Thrilled!!! Oh, and he’s here because Somegirlwehaveneverheardmentionedbefore from a town we know the EXACT location of (and it’s 25 miles away) texted him and told him the gas prices were cheap here. Uh huh. So he came on down to top off his tank. That was the most economical thing we’d ever heard. It almost brought tears to our eyes. Each of them had burned over a gallon of gas travelling to save $0.03 per gallon on a fill-up they didn’t even need. How fiscally brilliant. And by the way, the pumps are over THERE.
And that was our first introduction to BPZilla. (Hey, it would have been cool actually, for the sake of the story, if it HAD been a bP station where we first met her, but alas, the bP is kitty-cornered across the street. This was a Speedway.)
So, we knew something was up. We just weren’t sure what. Or how long it would take, though we suspected, knowing Boss, that time was of the essence. Within a month, I got an early morning giddy phone call from Boss, letting me know that he’d asked the question the night before, and she’d answered in the affirmative. Wow. Just wow. Oh, and congratulations!!!! …….I think?
I mean, they hardly KNEW each other. She is a cutie, and very photogenic; has the right color eyes. Yeah, eye color mattered, something about one of those dreams. And they say she can sing like an angel, although she’s never done so in my earshot, so I can’t promise. Oh, and she can type 80 words per minute. I know this random piece of secretarial trivia because I hear it quite often. The first time I got wind of this amazing prowess was when Bzilla walked in to a meeting I was having with Boss, just days before the engagement took place:
She breezed into our building, swung wide the closed doors of our conference room and sauntered right over to the table where boss and I were bent over some sensitive financial documents. She got cozy by plopping herself in between us, which seemed odd then, and seems even ODDER now. (In hindsight, I believe she was vexed that I might have a “thing” for my boss. Which is wrong on so many levels. And, furthermore, gag! )
So, anyway, Pre-betrothalzilla’s sitting there after having totally disrupted our pretty dang important meeting. We can’t continue with her in the room, because we have been discussing confidential material. But Boss is visibly flattered that she’s there, and doesn’t ask her to wait elsewhere. Closed-door meeting over, and he unaccountably launches into an absurd mock INTERVIEW of this chickiepoo, like it's all been prearranged. And that’s when she reveals that she can type 80 words per minute. Remarkable. And it also comes to light that she knows absolutely NOTHING about anything else that could be even remotely useful in our business. But certainly she’s “WILLING TO LEARN,” which causes Boss to nearly melt out of his chair. I can tell he thinks she’s the perfect solution for – well, you name it, every workplace struggle-- past, present or future.
Now, I’m no office skills expert, but I think you have to do some sort of routine implementation to maintain that 80 wpm pace. You know, use it or lose it? Pregzilla has worked in retail for the last few years, in sales, and not as an administrative assistant. She doesn’t own a computer, doesn’t even have access to a keyboard. And not to be sour grapes, but no one at work has ever asked ME how fast I can type. I’m no slouch, but since I’m not husband-hunting, and since I don’t advertise the wpm thing EVERY time I open my mouth, it must not count. (But I kid you not, the first time she met our new vice president a couple weeks ago, the 80 wpm public notice came out of her mouth in the first breath. WHY?????) As near as I can figure, when I take into account all the data entry she’s done for our business in the nearly eight months since the nuptials, she must have logged a whopping 1.2 minutes. False advertising, if you ask me. We should sue.
So after the announcement, Boss’ whole family, with whom I’m well acquainted, is struggling to get their minds around this impending doom. I mean wedding. Boss mentions that it won’t be a long engagement. It’s early fall, so we’re thinking a Christmas wedding might be in the works, a little over two months away, and I’m hopeful that it will be long enough for either of them to realize, if need be, that this is a MAJOR error in judgment.
You might be wondering about Bzilla’s family. I do know that her parents were positively beside themselves, as you might imagine, at the very thought of their GenX princess marrying this peculiar Baby Boomer, who was doubtlessly in the throes of mid-life crisis. I don’t know exactly what transpired among them, but Bzill’s dad did NOT accompany her down the aisle, and whenever her folks were mentioned, there were snappish comments by Bridezilla, and sighing and head-shaking by Boss, so I got the inkling it wasn’t a subject up for discussion.
In a couple of days, Boss shared the wedding date with his siblings and the office staff. Probably should have mentioned this date to the BRIDE first, particularly given the fact that the date is merely one and a half WEEKS away. I believe I have mentioned that Boss is accustomed to making his own decisions and working on his own timetable? He also claimed spiritual motivation for such an expedient ceremony. But I have always had some degree of confidence that the big rush wasn’t so much the fire of the Spirit as it was the fire in his pants. Again, I’m just saying.
At any rate, Boss has got the whole thing planned down to the sheet music before Bridezilla ever gets a chance to put her foot down. Another thing you learn quickly about Boss: not a lot of people are willing to stand up to him, including Bzilla, at least at first. As for me, I pick my battles, but I ain’t skeered. I finally sat Boss down and told him exactly what I thought about the whole mess – well, not about the fire-in-the-pants thing, but at least about the date of the wedding. Come to think of it, I believe I actually DID ask, “Where’s the fire?” although I really didn't want to KNOW, despite my theory. What I communicated was that Bzilla had probably always had at least SOME dreams of her wedding being a certain way, and that if he rushed it SO quickly, he’d cheat her out of the experience, not to mention it would look cheap and chintzy in front of the tons of people who would attend. It worked faintly, and he postponed it. A week. Hey, it was something, right?
Oh, and one caveat about the planning – while boss often plans to the nth degree, he often fails to put those plans into motion. So, surprise!!! With 4 days left until the wedding, he and Bzilla go to pick out the wedding dress, maid of honor gown and tuxes. At T-3 days, he helps his bride move all her worldly goods to his residence and discovers, for the first time, that she comes with a free cat. The happy couple decides to print invitations, but scrap the idea with two days to go because #1- no time to mail, and #2-the wedding location falls through at the last moment. On the morning before the wedding, they still aren’t sure of the venue, but get the go-ahead in time for Bridezilla to throw a tantrum about the decorations. The tuxes arrive via UPS on Friday afternoon, however another package has leaked in the truck and the whole shipping box is sopping. The suits are dry, nonetheless. Boss’ sister tries, on the night before the wedding, to print out a program for the ceremony, but runs out of both printer ink and time. Trust me, it was just as well. She didn’t have time to get anyone to proofread her creation. Wedding planners and English teachers have nightmares about programs like that. The “Maid of Onher” wouldn’t have appreciated it either.
I know I promised (over a week ago) a synopsis of the wedding ceremony itself, but I realized that you really haven’t gotten a clear picture of the courtship/engagement yet, and it would get my knickers in a twist to go all out of chronological order like that.
Boss, as I think I’ve mentioned, is a little eccentric. And sometimes paranoid. Andheseesvisionsandhearsvoicesthereihavesaidit. And he has great faith that those visions and voices come from above. Sometimes, I tend to agree, weird though it may seem. Other times……. I’m pretty sure they have another point of origination. I’m just saying.
Like the whole marriage thing. He’s had quite a number of girlfriends over the years, and has carried with thinly veiled pride the idea that he’s a chick magnet. In some respects, I guess it’s true. He’s very emotional and passionate about his work, and let’s face it, passion is attractive. So over time, he’s garnered maybe more than his share of female attention. Mind-bogglingly YOUNG female attention.
Not that long ago, he was pretty much head over heels about a 21 year old girl. He met her on vacation. I saw pictures. She was a cute little blonde thing, who I noticed right off was dressed rather skimpily in the emailed pic I saw. He was thinking she was IT. After hearing that he was spending lots of time corresponding with her, and they were engaging in reciprocal thinking that each other was just the bees’ knees, I advised him to ask her dad for permission to have a relationship with her. Boss and Blondie’s dad had become pretty amiable during Boss’ vacation, so I thought it was a good plan. And I also suspected that her dad was going to think, “You creep, you’re nearly as old as I am! Keep your skanky hands OFF my untouched flower of a daughter.” Which is apparently pretty much what he DID think, although he used a much more gentle tack in actually breaking the news to Boss.
Interestingly, Boss never did ask me for romance advice again.
So then, Boss experienced a romantic dry spell, during which he vowed to not share any further details with anyone besides his closest confidantes, of which I am not one. Especially not after the advice that tanked his romance with Blondie. So, when B/PZilla showed up, all of us at the office kinda got blindsided. But not THAT blindsided, because we knew Boss must be spending a little extra time behind the scenes SOMEWHERE.
In fact, Dh and I went to the gas station once (ironically, right across the street from the Arby’s where my van magically appeared on the night of the bridal shower. I think it’s the anti-Bermuda Triangle, where things mysteriously appear instead of disappear…) and there was Boss’ vehicle parked in the corner of the parking lot. Okay, this gas station is like 15 miles away from anyplace he normally goes, and he had no appointments in this direction of which I was aware. Not that I am aware of EVERYTHING, but I mean, I see the guy’s Outlook schedule several times per day, so I’m pretty hip to what’s up.
We thought, okay, what are the chances we’d run into Boss HERE? Too weird. We drive up behind him and he SPRINGS forth from the vehicle. Glad to see us! Thrilled!!! Oh, and he’s here because Somegirlwehaveneverheardmentionedbefore from a town we know the EXACT location of (and it’s 25 miles away) texted him and told him the gas prices were cheap here. Uh huh. So he came on down to top off his tank. That was the most economical thing we’d ever heard. It almost brought tears to our eyes. Each of them had burned over a gallon of gas travelling to save $0.03 per gallon on a fill-up they didn’t even need. How fiscally brilliant. And by the way, the pumps are over THERE.
And that was our first introduction to BPZilla. (Hey, it would have been cool actually, for the sake of the story, if it HAD been a bP station where we first met her, but alas, the bP is kitty-cornered across the street. This was a Speedway.)
So, we knew something was up. We just weren’t sure what. Or how long it would take, though we suspected, knowing Boss, that time was of the essence. Within a month, I got an early morning giddy phone call from Boss, letting me know that he’d asked the question the night before, and she’d answered in the affirmative. Wow. Just wow. Oh, and congratulations!!!! …….I think?
I mean, they hardly KNEW each other. She is a cutie, and very photogenic; has the right color eyes. Yeah, eye color mattered, something about one of those dreams. And they say she can sing like an angel, although she’s never done so in my earshot, so I can’t promise. Oh, and she can type 80 words per minute. I know this random piece of secretarial trivia because I hear it quite often. The first time I got wind of this amazing prowess was when Bzilla walked in to a meeting I was having with Boss, just days before the engagement took place:
She breezed into our building, swung wide the closed doors of our conference room and sauntered right over to the table where boss and I were bent over some sensitive financial documents. She got cozy by plopping herself in between us, which seemed odd then, and seems even ODDER now. (In hindsight, I believe she was vexed that I might have a “thing” for my boss. Which is wrong on so many levels. And, furthermore, gag! )
So, anyway, Pre-betrothalzilla’s sitting there after having totally disrupted our pretty dang important meeting. We can’t continue with her in the room, because we have been discussing confidential material. But Boss is visibly flattered that she’s there, and doesn’t ask her to wait elsewhere. Closed-door meeting over, and he unaccountably launches into an absurd mock INTERVIEW of this chickiepoo, like it's all been prearranged. And that’s when she reveals that she can type 80 words per minute. Remarkable. And it also comes to light that she knows absolutely NOTHING about anything else that could be even remotely useful in our business. But certainly she’s “WILLING TO LEARN,” which causes Boss to nearly melt out of his chair. I can tell he thinks she’s the perfect solution for – well, you name it, every workplace struggle-- past, present or future.
Now, I’m no office skills expert, but I think you have to do some sort of routine implementation to maintain that 80 wpm pace. You know, use it or lose it? Pregzilla has worked in retail for the last few years, in sales, and not as an administrative assistant. She doesn’t own a computer, doesn’t even have access to a keyboard. And not to be sour grapes, but no one at work has ever asked ME how fast I can type. I’m no slouch, but since I’m not husband-hunting, and since I don’t advertise the wpm thing EVERY time I open my mouth, it must not count. (But I kid you not, the first time she met our new vice president a couple weeks ago, the 80 wpm public notice came out of her mouth in the first breath. WHY?????) As near as I can figure, when I take into account all the data entry she’s done for our business in the nearly eight months since the nuptials, she must have logged a whopping 1.2 minutes. False advertising, if you ask me. We should sue.
So after the announcement, Boss’ whole family, with whom I’m well acquainted, is struggling to get their minds around this impending doom. I mean wedding. Boss mentions that it won’t be a long engagement. It’s early fall, so we’re thinking a Christmas wedding might be in the works, a little over two months away, and I’m hopeful that it will be long enough for either of them to realize, if need be, that this is a MAJOR error in judgment.
You might be wondering about Bzilla’s family. I do know that her parents were positively beside themselves, as you might imagine, at the very thought of their GenX princess marrying this peculiar Baby Boomer, who was doubtlessly in the throes of mid-life crisis. I don’t know exactly what transpired among them, but Bzill’s dad did NOT accompany her down the aisle, and whenever her folks were mentioned, there were snappish comments by Bridezilla, and sighing and head-shaking by Boss, so I got the inkling it wasn’t a subject up for discussion.
In a couple of days, Boss shared the wedding date with his siblings and the office staff. Probably should have mentioned this date to the BRIDE first, particularly given the fact that the date is merely one and a half WEEKS away. I believe I have mentioned that Boss is accustomed to making his own decisions and working on his own timetable? He also claimed spiritual motivation for such an expedient ceremony. But I have always had some degree of confidence that the big rush wasn’t so much the fire of the Spirit as it was the fire in his pants. Again, I’m just saying.
At any rate, Boss has got the whole thing planned down to the sheet music before Bridezilla ever gets a chance to put her foot down. Another thing you learn quickly about Boss: not a lot of people are willing to stand up to him, including Bzilla, at least at first. As for me, I pick my battles, but I ain’t skeered. I finally sat Boss down and told him exactly what I thought about the whole mess – well, not about the fire-in-the-pants thing, but at least about the date of the wedding. Come to think of it, I believe I actually DID ask, “Where’s the fire?” although I really didn't want to KNOW, despite my theory. What I communicated was that Bzilla had probably always had at least SOME dreams of her wedding being a certain way, and that if he rushed it SO quickly, he’d cheat her out of the experience, not to mention it would look cheap and chintzy in front of the tons of people who would attend. It worked faintly, and he postponed it. A week. Hey, it was something, right?
Oh, and one caveat about the planning – while boss often plans to the nth degree, he often fails to put those plans into motion. So, surprise!!! With 4 days left until the wedding, he and Bzilla go to pick out the wedding dress, maid of honor gown and tuxes. At T-3 days, he helps his bride move all her worldly goods to his residence and discovers, for the first time, that she comes with a free cat. The happy couple decides to print invitations, but scrap the idea with two days to go because #1- no time to mail, and #2-the wedding location falls through at the last moment. On the morning before the wedding, they still aren’t sure of the venue, but get the go-ahead in time for Bridezilla to throw a tantrum about the decorations. The tuxes arrive via UPS on Friday afternoon, however another package has leaked in the truck and the whole shipping box is sopping. The suits are dry, nonetheless. Boss’ sister tries, on the night before the wedding, to print out a program for the ceremony, but runs out of both printer ink and time. Trust me, it was just as well. She didn’t have time to get anyone to proofread her creation. Wedding planners and English teachers have nightmares about programs like that. The “Maid of Onher” wouldn’t have appreciated it either.
Chapter 3 - Wedding Collapse and the Japanese Contingent
An alert Fishie asked about the allusion to the ambulance at the wedding:
The ambulance was summoned when boss' mom collapsed after the ceremony, outside during the photo shoot. No apparent rhyme nor reason for that episode, but at the same time, it strangely seemed to fit right in, KWIM?
Good thing there were 500 pieces of chicken, cause it gave the guests something to do while they waited the 1 1/2 hrs it took to send the medics packing and finish the wedding pics.
(See, I told not to ask. It wasn't that exciting.)
Jan requested additional disclosure on nephew's girlfriend's roommate and friends: "BTW, you have GOT to tell the story of the Japanese newcomers! I must hear more!" So I obliged:
What WAS much more entertaining was the night of the bridal shower. It was mid-October. We'd just come off a week at work that had involved planning and carrying out a major day-long community event. Other than the boss, there were two full-time employees in our office, and one part-timer. This had been our SIXTH major event since mid-June, all orchestrated and executed by the same skeleton crew. Biting off more than we could chew was an understatement. And now, even though it wasn't technically MY deal, there was this wedding looming. I was mentally exhausted, and secretly, I was absolutely GIDDY to be going to a party hosted by someone ELSE, where there was a possibility I wouldn't have to lift a finger. SWEET.
As I was on my way to the shower, I got a call from the boss' sister, asking me to let the folks at the shower know that their vehicle had broken down, she was calling from a pay phone because they had no cell reception, and they were stranded at a Wal-Mart about 20 miles from where I was, which happened to be about 45-50 miles from the shower location. And of course, in the opposite direction.
Nevertheless, I couldn't let sis miss her only brother's bridal shower...wait, that sounds wrong. At any rate, I told them I was on my way to pick them up, driving dh's mini van. As I'm driving, I'm mentally doing the math, and at some point it dawns on me that my van will hold seven average-sized folks. I'm one, of course , which leaves six spots...and I'm on my way to pick up boss' sister, and another sister, and boss' dad, and sis' three sons (the SHORTEST of whom is 6'7") and eldest son's girlfriend. Total of eight people, three of which are decidedly NOT average-sized folks. Gonna be tight.
So I arrive at the Wal-Mart and at the EXACT same time as I pull in the parking lot, this carload of Asian individuals pulls up. In the Wal-Mart parking lot. Where quite possibly, no Japanese person has ever before set foot. Certainly not a whole carload full.
They hop out, looking like they took a wrong turn across the Pond from a Tokyo nightclub. Fishnet hose, miniskirts, layered tanks, lots of glittery eye makeup, asymmetrical haircuts on the girls. Dress shirt & black tie, leather pants and loafers on the one boy, garnet-colored sateen jacket, black silk t-shirt, designer jeans & Chuck Taylor's on the other. Both have SHINY spiky hair that seems to defy gravity. I'm pretty mesmerized, because after all, this is not everyday fare in Podunkville, USA. People in the parking lot stop and stare.
Girlfriend introduces us. This is XXX, (who I'm sorry to say, possesses a name I can neither pronounce nor spell, not even phonetically, so she will remain XXX) and her three friends with equally impossible handles. Nice to meet you. Oh, they don't really speak English, but they UNDERSTAND quite a bit. Lots of giggling and bowing.
They had gotten directions and been enroute to the "big city" 35 miles away to spend an evening out on the town. But they'd needed to drop by a Wal-Mart, and there was this one, the one I'd just happened to pull into to pick up XXX's roommate. (And yep, you read that right. TOTAL COINCIDENCE that they had pulled into this small-town Wal-Mart where XXX's roommate was stranded. TOTAL COINCIDENCE that they pulled up right next to my van. They were just parking in the lot so they could run in to the store. )
Well these cosmopolitan jet-setters somehow decided that it would be more thrilling to accompany some locals to a bridal shower than it would to go clubbing. So they decided to FOLLOW us to the shower. Outstanding, fall in line.
While these plans were being hatched, boss' dad, who is a chain smoker, decided that he couldn't possibly survive without a cig the entire hour's drive to the shower. Since our family has allergy issues, and don't allow smoking in our vehicles (yawn) he decided we needed to drive him home (an ADDITIONAL 15 miles-still in the opposite direction) so that he and one of the daughters could pick up another vehicle where he could smoke like a chimney in peace. Dandy, anything to keep it OUT of my van.
A side benefit was that it would reduce my van's occupancy by two, to a completely-legal six passengers. Cool. Dad was delivered home and fell gasping out of the van to light up. 6'11" son, who'd been folded up in the way-back of the van unkinked himself and treated his butt to a real seat.
The Japanese folks' Honda was firmly planted just behind my rear bumper at boss' dad's house, and we couldn't make them understand that they'd need to BACK out of the driveway. We were laughing hysterically, which didn't help the translation, but we finally decided to just four-wheel it forward and circle onto the road through the neighbors' yard. Some things are just too hard. They followed.
As we sped down the interstate, by now nearly an hour late for the shower, girlfriend got a call from the Japanese delegation. They were hungry and had to pee. Could we please stop? I had been contemplating our Japanese friends for the last 20 miles, and was having anxiety tremors thinking about trying to navigate them wordlessly through the next 30 miles of city construction areas I knew were upcoming, through the tricky turns, traffic lights, etc. Not looking fun. I was WISHING for MY car, the one I'd left at home -- a big white 15 passenger van. I'd load the whole lot of us up in THAT puppy, and make SURE we all got to the same place at the same time!
So we exited at the next interchange, which happened to be relatively near my home base, but sadly, not near enough to justify spending another 1/2 hour driving back and forth to pick up my van. But, what was that at the Burger King? A white 15 passenger van! But it wasn't mine.
Fortunately, the 15 passenger parked next door, at Arby's, WAS my van. Dh had taken the boys out for supper, so by whatever stroke of weird coincidence that was, we left the Japanese kids' car in the Arby's lot, and I was able to transport all 10 of us together. Well, plus a few. The three of us who were originally invited to the all-female shower, plus the three boss' nephews who were invited on the fly after the party attendance suddenly tanked, plus the four Japanese rock stars on their bizarre field trip into middle-class American cultural tradition. Oh, and plus my three eldest boys, friends of the nephews, who had been at the restaurant with their dad, got curious and didn't want to miss a moment of whatever might happen next with our motley, mismatched crew.
And you pretty much know the story AT the shower. Oh, another notable was the wedding dress the Japanese folks made out of toilet paper during the shower game. That thing was beautiful. Seriously. Those kids were DESIGNERS. I had no idea origami extended to toilet paper. You shoulda seen the FLOWER on that one-shouldered dress. Wish I had a picture to share. Ah well.
Anyway, we all laughed pretty much all the way to the shower, and all the way back. Because that's the kind of story you can TELL, but nobody'd ever believe actually happened to you. Like Dr. Suess' Mulberry Street, man. With a bride, a groom, a derelict vehicle, a chain smoker, 7 ft tall teenagers, random male guests and natty, artistic Asian strangers who giggle and bow.
Sara asked for a little clarification: Oh, and did I understand correctly that your boss had his non-profit ministry pay for the 500 pieces of chicken for his own wedding reception?
Oh, no. Really, that was a personal check. Now how it came to be filled out, signed and placed conspicuously on my computer keyboard, I don't know... Boss is not normally someone who plans that far ahead.
You don't think I was being taken for granted, do you?
And thanks girls, for giving my stories kudos. I was just trying to tell it descriptively so you'd feel you were "there." C'mon, funny stuff happens to you all too, I know it, right??!
And I could NEVER put this stuff out for just ANYONE to read. In spite of their eccentric, bizarre behavior, I really do love these guys. Well, in Pregzilla's case, bump that down to a highly uncomfortable fondness. And I'm NOT going to the shower (but I might hear stories ) and I'm SURE I won't get a delivery-room ticket, but I won't leave ya hangin, either, I promise.
I'd be MORTIFIED if they (or anyone else, for that matter) ever ever actually made positive ID on these people in anything they read.
The ambulance was summoned when boss' mom collapsed after the ceremony, outside during the photo shoot. No apparent rhyme nor reason for that episode, but at the same time, it strangely seemed to fit right in, KWIM?
Good thing there were 500 pieces of chicken, cause it gave the guests something to do while they waited the 1 1/2 hrs it took to send the medics packing and finish the wedding pics.
(See, I told not to ask. It wasn't that exciting.)
Jan requested additional disclosure on nephew's girlfriend's roommate and friends: "BTW, you have GOT to tell the story of the Japanese newcomers! I must hear more!" So I obliged:
What WAS much more entertaining was the night of the bridal shower. It was mid-October. We'd just come off a week at work that had involved planning and carrying out a major day-long community event. Other than the boss, there were two full-time employees in our office, and one part-timer. This had been our SIXTH major event since mid-June, all orchestrated and executed by the same skeleton crew. Biting off more than we could chew was an understatement. And now, even though it wasn't technically MY deal, there was this wedding looming. I was mentally exhausted, and secretly, I was absolutely GIDDY to be going to a party hosted by someone ELSE, where there was a possibility I wouldn't have to lift a finger. SWEET.
As I was on my way to the shower, I got a call from the boss' sister, asking me to let the folks at the shower know that their vehicle had broken down, she was calling from a pay phone because they had no cell reception, and they were stranded at a Wal-Mart about 20 miles from where I was, which happened to be about 45-50 miles from the shower location. And of course, in the opposite direction.
Nevertheless, I couldn't let sis miss her only brother's bridal shower...wait, that sounds wrong. At any rate, I told them I was on my way to pick them up, driving dh's mini van. As I'm driving, I'm mentally doing the math, and at some point it dawns on me that my van will hold seven average-sized folks. I'm one, of course , which leaves six spots...and I'm on my way to pick up boss' sister, and another sister, and boss' dad, and sis' three sons (the SHORTEST of whom is 6'7") and eldest son's girlfriend. Total of eight people, three of which are decidedly NOT average-sized folks. Gonna be tight.
So I arrive at the Wal-Mart and at the EXACT same time as I pull in the parking lot, this carload of Asian individuals pulls up. In the Wal-Mart parking lot. Where quite possibly, no Japanese person has ever before set foot. Certainly not a whole carload full.
They hop out, looking like they took a wrong turn across the Pond from a Tokyo nightclub. Fishnet hose, miniskirts, layered tanks, lots of glittery eye makeup, asymmetrical haircuts on the girls. Dress shirt & black tie, leather pants and loafers on the one boy, garnet-colored sateen jacket, black silk t-shirt, designer jeans & Chuck Taylor's on the other. Both have SHINY spiky hair that seems to defy gravity. I'm pretty mesmerized, because after all, this is not everyday fare in Podunkville, USA. People in the parking lot stop and stare.
Girlfriend introduces us. This is XXX, (who I'm sorry to say, possesses a name I can neither pronounce nor spell, not even phonetically, so she will remain XXX) and her three friends with equally impossible handles. Nice to meet you. Oh, they don't really speak English, but they UNDERSTAND quite a bit. Lots of giggling and bowing.
They had gotten directions and been enroute to the "big city" 35 miles away to spend an evening out on the town. But they'd needed to drop by a Wal-Mart, and there was this one, the one I'd just happened to pull into to pick up XXX's roommate. (And yep, you read that right. TOTAL COINCIDENCE that they had pulled into this small-town Wal-Mart where XXX's roommate was stranded. TOTAL COINCIDENCE that they pulled up right next to my van. They were just parking in the lot so they could run in to the store. )
Well these cosmopolitan jet-setters somehow decided that it would be more thrilling to accompany some locals to a bridal shower than it would to go clubbing. So they decided to FOLLOW us to the shower. Outstanding, fall in line.
While these plans were being hatched, boss' dad, who is a chain smoker, decided that he couldn't possibly survive without a cig the entire hour's drive to the shower. Since our family has allergy issues, and don't allow smoking in our vehicles (yawn) he decided we needed to drive him home (an ADDITIONAL 15 miles-still in the opposite direction) so that he and one of the daughters could pick up another vehicle where he could smoke like a chimney in peace. Dandy, anything to keep it OUT of my van.
A side benefit was that it would reduce my van's occupancy by two, to a completely-legal six passengers. Cool. Dad was delivered home and fell gasping out of the van to light up. 6'11" son, who'd been folded up in the way-back of the van unkinked himself and treated his butt to a real seat.
The Japanese folks' Honda was firmly planted just behind my rear bumper at boss' dad's house, and we couldn't make them understand that they'd need to BACK out of the driveway. We were laughing hysterically, which didn't help the translation, but we finally decided to just four-wheel it forward and circle onto the road through the neighbors' yard. Some things are just too hard. They followed.
As we sped down the interstate, by now nearly an hour late for the shower, girlfriend got a call from the Japanese delegation. They were hungry and had to pee. Could we please stop? I had been contemplating our Japanese friends for the last 20 miles, and was having anxiety tremors thinking about trying to navigate them wordlessly through the next 30 miles of city construction areas I knew were upcoming, through the tricky turns, traffic lights, etc. Not looking fun. I was WISHING for MY car, the one I'd left at home -- a big white 15 passenger van. I'd load the whole lot of us up in THAT puppy, and make SURE we all got to the same place at the same time!
So we exited at the next interchange, which happened to be relatively near my home base, but sadly, not near enough to justify spending another 1/2 hour driving back and forth to pick up my van. But, what was that at the Burger King? A white 15 passenger van! But it wasn't mine.
Fortunately, the 15 passenger parked next door, at Arby's, WAS my van. Dh had taken the boys out for supper, so by whatever stroke of weird coincidence that was, we left the Japanese kids' car in the Arby's lot, and I was able to transport all 10 of us together. Well, plus a few. The three of us who were originally invited to the all-female shower, plus the three boss' nephews who were invited on the fly after the party attendance suddenly tanked, plus the four Japanese rock stars on their bizarre field trip into middle-class American cultural tradition. Oh, and plus my three eldest boys, friends of the nephews, who had been at the restaurant with their dad, got curious and didn't want to miss a moment of whatever might happen next with our motley, mismatched crew.
And you pretty much know the story AT the shower. Oh, another notable was the wedding dress the Japanese folks made out of toilet paper during the shower game. That thing was beautiful. Seriously. Those kids were DESIGNERS. I had no idea origami extended to toilet paper. You shoulda seen the FLOWER on that one-shouldered dress. Wish I had a picture to share. Ah well.
Anyway, we all laughed pretty much all the way to the shower, and all the way back. Because that's the kind of story you can TELL, but nobody'd ever believe actually happened to you. Like Dr. Suess' Mulberry Street, man. With a bride, a groom, a derelict vehicle, a chain smoker, 7 ft tall teenagers, random male guests and natty, artistic Asian strangers who giggle and bow.
Sara asked for a little clarification: Oh, and did I understand correctly that your boss had his non-profit ministry pay for the 500 pieces of chicken for his own wedding reception?
Oh, no. Really, that was a personal check. Now how it came to be filled out, signed and placed conspicuously on my computer keyboard, I don't know... Boss is not normally someone who plans that far ahead.
You don't think I was being taken for granted, do you?
And thanks girls, for giving my stories kudos. I was just trying to tell it descriptively so you'd feel you were "there." C'mon, funny stuff happens to you all too, I know it, right??!
And I could NEVER put this stuff out for just ANYONE to read. In spite of their eccentric, bizarre behavior, I really do love these guys. Well, in Pregzilla's case, bump that down to a highly uncomfortable fondness. And I'm NOT going to the shower (but I might hear stories ) and I'm SURE I won't get a delivery-room ticket, but I won't leave ya hangin, either, I promise.
I'd be MORTIFIED if they (or anyone else, for that matter) ever ever actually made positive ID on these people in anything they read.
Chapter 2 - The Amazingly Long Chronicles of Pregzilla
We're dealing with some cancelled ballgames today, so I've got a few idle moments at home. So, grab a beverage, sit back (this is REALLY long) and for your reading enjoyment, here is the incredible backstory of Pregzilla...
The Pre-Nuptials
Last fall: Bachelor boss (goodhearted, but QUITE eccentric) was in search of a wife. Like, yesterday . Had found some sweet young candidates in his travels around the country, but nothing had ever worked out. Had some very good choices in our own locale, as well, but they didn't meet his requirements - too old (over 25) , already had children, not willing to travel worldwide. He RAN from these women. Somewhat unreasonable marriage criteria, I thought, for a man himself approaching middle age, and while ordinarily charming, is not exactly the image of a Chippendale model or anything, but whatever...
I was his personal admin assistant. He is extremely busy, has no time or patience for the mundane - I even took care of his personal finances. I was actually looking forward to the idea that a big chunk of what I was doing would be taken over by his wife if/when he married, because he was quite candid with his plan to choose a wife whom he could bring into the business. I didn't mind picking up the slack temporarily. Like I said, eccentric, but a really pleasant guy, most of the time.
Anyhoo, he met P at a gathering in the fall and she began randomly turning up. He was intrigued, because she seemed fresh and engaging and enthusiastic and willing to learn the ropes of the business. REALLY intrigued, and within a very few weeks, they were engaged. Weird, kinda shocking actually, but everything seemed tentatively good.
So she didn't care about the wedding, just wanted to be married. Sweet. Which was good, because they decided to set the date for like 3 weeks after their betrothal. The wedding budget was thinner than a shoestring, and so his family determined to step in and help make it as nice as possible with lots of offers of bridal attire and decorations.
Only, as the planning began, it became clear Bridezilla did INDEED care about the wedding. She went from not minding what she wore to turning up her nose at every offer of a gown. She wanted her OWN gown, in the style SHE wanted. (Understandable, but please, make up your mind.)
Her bridesmaids ALL backed out on her in short order, even her MOH. Her future dh picked her another MOH(no kidding), out of his stash of friends and family. Just a big red warning flag on the path to the altar, in retrospect.
Bridal Shower
Bridal shower turned out to be a co-ed affair. Which would have been fine, if it had been billed as such. But the boys who attended were invited on the spur of the moment, when it was discovered that due to all Bridezilla's friends (and most of her family, apparently) cutting a trail, there would be only a handful in attendance. So here came the guys, who except for the future in-laws, had never even met the bride. They came bearing no gifts, just an appetite.
AND....and this is HILARIOUS....one of the in-law nephews has a girlfriend, whose college roommate this year was from Japan. The girlfriend and her roommate came too, unnaccountably with a contingent of three of her Japanese co-ed friends, a girl and two boys - none of whom spoke fluent English. They understood EVERYTHING, but couldn't converse. They had never met ANY of us, but were here at the bridal shower nonetheless. In fact, I had BROUGHT them to the bridal shower in my 15 passenger van because they had broken down in a town about 45 miles away from the shower site and I offered to go pick them up, as well as drop them back off when the shower was over. That is an entertaining story in itself, but which I won't attempt to delve into here. Aren't you glad.
Anyhow, the Japanese observers (who had never seen an American bridal shower, they let us know) sat around watching the gift opening, chatting excitedly in their mother tongue, participated in the bridal shower games, won some prizes, and eyed the refreshment table coyly.
After the cake was cut and the buffet line had gone through, they went back again and again. Finally, they gave up the farce of civility and just STOOD hovered like buzzards AROUND the refreshment table eating ALL the rest of the sandwiches, chips, cake, mints, nuts and relish tray and drinking ALL the beverages until there were nothing but empty dishes, save the two small dill pickles on the relish tray that they decided were not tasty. No crumbs, because (and I'm not making this stuff up) they even licked the plates clean.
Wedding Prep
In other happenings, B-zilla finally found "THE" gown, and on the Thursday before the wedding on Saturday, offhandedly asked me to "hem" it for her, as I was the only one she knew of who could sew well. Turned out it didn't need to be HEMMED, it needed to be ALTERED. Those of you who have ever tried on a wedding gown (or heck, ANY kind of gown) KNOW the difference, right?
How can you possibly think, when you're falling out of the top of your wedding dress, that the problem is that it's too LONG??? Yeah, I can sew, but altering bridal gowns is a little outside my comfort zone. But I did it, and loaned her my crinoline to boot. She seemed appreciative...and I was relieved.
Oh, and by the way, she said, they'd be decorating the church tomorrow (but they weren't sure WHICH church yet ), and of course they'd need me to help. (FIRST I'd heard of it, but I had previously said I would be willing to pitch in with whatever, so I swallowed it. ) She didn't know what time they could get in though, could she call me early tomorrow? Okay. I told her when I'd be available.
Next day, she didn't call until EVENING, the only time I had told her I wouldn't be available. Hello. I could tell she was peeved, but I didn't feel too horrible - after all, I knew she had at least 20 in-laws that were on-site with her. And the testimonies I heard later made me glad I stayed away. "This is MY wedding." "Take that DOWN!!" "That looks HORRIBLE!!!" Wow. Bridezilla strips off the serene-faced latex mask and we see the frightening countenance beneath.
The Wedding:
Just before noon (wedding at 2 p.m.), the boss calls and asks me to drop past our business and pick up something on my way to the church. It was a check. TO PAY FOR the 500 pieces of chicken that would be ready at Wal-Mart anytime after one so could I please pick those up for the reception. Wahooooooo. OKAY.... AND..... AND....(you won't believe this) while I was at the office, would I please load up the WEDDING CAKE and bring that too? Two GIANT sheets and a multi-tiered main cake. Oh, and don't forget the topper. It was in the cooler too.
Now, I have to tell you. I have a degree in a field closely related to food service, and have dabbled in cake decoration, and the MAIN reason I NEVER even seriously considered cakes as a business is because of my abject FEAR of something happening to a wedding cake enroute. So, for me, this was a nightmare, not to mention that I had to find space to HAUL the cake - and THEN a totally removed space to haul the hot pieces of chicken so they wouldn't fall on the cake. Do you know how much SPACE that cake took? Do you have any idea how many boxes it takes to hold 500 pieces of chicken? YIKES. I still sweat thinking about that.
Got to the church to discover that the MOH had just been screamed at and ordered out of the dressing room. "I want to be ALONE!!!" Okay, Greta. (Garbo. Anybody remember that quote? Cricket. Cricket. Alrighty then....) She was upset. Tried to help calm her down.
Carried the cake into the reception area. The cake table was undecorated. I asked who was taking over from here. Cricket. Cricket. I seem to get that a lot.
So all the cakes were safely conveyed inside, I set up the table, decorated it (hey, I got out of it the day before, so see, I helped on the day of! ) And then set out the sheets and tiered the main cake, including the topper. Whew.
Went to check on the chicken in the kitchen to make sure it had been unloaded. Panic was still ensuing in the bridal chamber at this point, where Bridezilla was shrieking because the groom had just seen her on her way to use the facilities.
The ceremony was ready to start. We were all excusing and playing off the bride's behavior using the “extreme stress” card. The chicken was sitting lonely & forgotten in the kitchen, next to some food service-sized cans of corn, lemonade mix, tea mix, and pork & beans. Ummmm, who was in charge of the reception meal? An “older couple.” Nobody seemed to know the names of these elusive people, or where they were, just that they had everything under control. Only they never showed. Ever. Another of Bridezilla's back-outs.
At the very last moment that the baked beans could be prepared in time for the reception, I decided to act. I thought about pretending I didn’t notice that the kitchen was unmanned, but I just couldn’t. I mean, there were hundreds of people in that auditorium. So I grabbed a future SIL and we set up the buffet servers, I found enough ingredients to make baked beans (I mean, was she just planning on the old folks heating up plain pork and beans? GROSS!!!! )
We got everything prepared, made a few gallons of beverages and set up the serving area just in time to sneak into the wedding to see the "I Do's". Nice.
Reception went well. B-zilla was gracious and friendly and grateful. Well, except for the pictures, which were kind of harrowing, I heard, and included an ambulance visit. Don't ask. Really, don't ask. Anyway, so far, so good. After the reception, the folks she had recruited to return the church and reception area to their former splendor mysteriously vaporized. Surprise, surprise. Guess who had to tear down? My family and a few of her new in-laws. I mean, we couldn't just LEAVE it a mess and walk out!
Honeymoon:
Long story short, lots of medical issues for B-zill, which for some reason, were well-broadcast during the honeymoon via telephone, and recounted afterward to anyone who asked an idle question. UTI. Lower ab pain. ER visits at the honeymoon destination. Cyst on the ovary, which had burst. I said to my dh at the time "Okay, she's got the UTI because she's not peeing post- and those cysts are called EGGS, people. She ovulated. Let's inform the media. I'll bet you dollars to donuts we are in for an announcement in about a month."
Post-Honeymoon:
I took about a week off when they got back from their honeymoon to let B-zill settle in to her new job at our business. I gave her my desk right outside the boss' office, even set her up with office supplies and a sweet note. To thank me, she dug up all the passwords to all the business accounts and CHANGED them so that I could no longer access any of our corporate financial info -- which is my primary job. Without calling to ask me any questions, she paid all our utility bills - twice! Boss told me all financial matters had been taken care of, as if it was FINALLY in the hands of someone competent. It has taken me MONTHS to straighten out all havoc that happened the week I was gone.
That week was to be her very last in the office, because sure enough....she had a bun in the oven.
And let me tell you, NO ONE has had it as rough as she during a pregnancy. Cough. Cough. Multiple ER and Immediate care clinic visits. Refused to call the OB for advice, just demanded to go to the hospital. Pregzilla's dh was pressed into service to do ALL laundry, dishes and housework, because she was too sick, too tired, too sore, too unwilling. All those glowing promises she made about being eager to learn the ropes at the office. Blah. No dice. Which, trust me...is OKAY with me. (And trust me, I've had difficult pregnancies too, but you find a way to go on, to do what has to be done. I mean, if you can't lift the laundry basket, you loop a belt through the handle and drag it to the washer & dryer and back. Not Pregzilla. She shuts DOWN. "Dh, do the laundry. I can't carry the basket.")
I just feel badly for her dh. Such high hopes for marriage. I guess he should have known those red flags were not part of a parade, huh?
And that is the story.
The Pre-Nuptials
Last fall: Bachelor boss (goodhearted, but QUITE eccentric) was in search of a wife. Like, yesterday . Had found some sweet young candidates in his travels around the country, but nothing had ever worked out. Had some very good choices in our own locale, as well, but they didn't meet his requirements - too old (over 25) , already had children, not willing to travel worldwide. He RAN from these women. Somewhat unreasonable marriage criteria, I thought, for a man himself approaching middle age, and while ordinarily charming, is not exactly the image of a Chippendale model or anything, but whatever...
I was his personal admin assistant. He is extremely busy, has no time or patience for the mundane - I even took care of his personal finances. I was actually looking forward to the idea that a big chunk of what I was doing would be taken over by his wife if/when he married, because he was quite candid with his plan to choose a wife whom he could bring into the business. I didn't mind picking up the slack temporarily. Like I said, eccentric, but a really pleasant guy, most of the time.
Anyhoo, he met P at a gathering in the fall and she began randomly turning up. He was intrigued, because she seemed fresh and engaging and enthusiastic and willing to learn the ropes of the business. REALLY intrigued, and within a very few weeks, they were engaged. Weird, kinda shocking actually, but everything seemed tentatively good.
So she didn't care about the wedding, just wanted to be married. Sweet. Which was good, because they decided to set the date for like 3 weeks after their betrothal. The wedding budget was thinner than a shoestring, and so his family determined to step in and help make it as nice as possible with lots of offers of bridal attire and decorations.
Only, as the planning began, it became clear Bridezilla did INDEED care about the wedding. She went from not minding what she wore to turning up her nose at every offer of a gown. She wanted her OWN gown, in the style SHE wanted. (Understandable, but please, make up your mind.)
Her bridesmaids ALL backed out on her in short order, even her MOH. Her future dh picked her another MOH(no kidding), out of his stash of friends and family. Just a big red warning flag on the path to the altar, in retrospect.
Bridal Shower
Bridal shower turned out to be a co-ed affair. Which would have been fine, if it had been billed as such. But the boys who attended were invited on the spur of the moment, when it was discovered that due to all Bridezilla's friends (and most of her family, apparently) cutting a trail, there would be only a handful in attendance. So here came the guys, who except for the future in-laws, had never even met the bride. They came bearing no gifts, just an appetite.
AND....and this is HILARIOUS....one of the in-law nephews has a girlfriend, whose college roommate this year was from Japan. The girlfriend and her roommate came too, unnaccountably with a contingent of three of her Japanese co-ed friends, a girl and two boys - none of whom spoke fluent English. They understood EVERYTHING, but couldn't converse. They had never met ANY of us, but were here at the bridal shower nonetheless. In fact, I had BROUGHT them to the bridal shower in my 15 passenger van because they had broken down in a town about 45 miles away from the shower site and I offered to go pick them up, as well as drop them back off when the shower was over. That is an entertaining story in itself, but which I won't attempt to delve into here. Aren't you glad.
Anyhow, the Japanese observers (who had never seen an American bridal shower, they let us know) sat around watching the gift opening, chatting excitedly in their mother tongue, participated in the bridal shower games, won some prizes, and eyed the refreshment table coyly.
After the cake was cut and the buffet line had gone through, they went back again and again. Finally, they gave up the farce of civility and just STOOD hovered like buzzards AROUND the refreshment table eating ALL the rest of the sandwiches, chips, cake, mints, nuts and relish tray and drinking ALL the beverages until there were nothing but empty dishes, save the two small dill pickles on the relish tray that they decided were not tasty. No crumbs, because (and I'm not making this stuff up) they even licked the plates clean.
Wedding Prep
In other happenings, B-zilla finally found "THE" gown, and on the Thursday before the wedding on Saturday, offhandedly asked me to "hem" it for her, as I was the only one she knew of who could sew well. Turned out it didn't need to be HEMMED, it needed to be ALTERED. Those of you who have ever tried on a wedding gown (or heck, ANY kind of gown) KNOW the difference, right?
How can you possibly think, when you're falling out of the top of your wedding dress, that the problem is that it's too LONG??? Yeah, I can sew, but altering bridal gowns is a little outside my comfort zone. But I did it, and loaned her my crinoline to boot. She seemed appreciative...and I was relieved.
Oh, and by the way, she said, they'd be decorating the church tomorrow (but they weren't sure WHICH church yet ), and of course they'd need me to help. (FIRST I'd heard of it, but I had previously said I would be willing to pitch in with whatever, so I swallowed it. ) She didn't know what time they could get in though, could she call me early tomorrow? Okay. I told her when I'd be available.
Next day, she didn't call until EVENING, the only time I had told her I wouldn't be available. Hello. I could tell she was peeved, but I didn't feel too horrible - after all, I knew she had at least 20 in-laws that were on-site with her. And the testimonies I heard later made me glad I stayed away. "This is MY wedding." "Take that DOWN!!" "That looks HORRIBLE!!!" Wow. Bridezilla strips off the serene-faced latex mask and we see the frightening countenance beneath.
The Wedding:
Just before noon (wedding at 2 p.m.), the boss calls and asks me to drop past our business and pick up something on my way to the church. It was a check. TO PAY FOR the 500 pieces of chicken that would be ready at Wal-Mart anytime after one so could I please pick those up for the reception. Wahooooooo. OKAY.... AND..... AND....(you won't believe this) while I was at the office, would I please load up the WEDDING CAKE and bring that too? Two GIANT sheets and a multi-tiered main cake. Oh, and don't forget the topper. It was in the cooler too.
Now, I have to tell you. I have a degree in a field closely related to food service, and have dabbled in cake decoration, and the MAIN reason I NEVER even seriously considered cakes as a business is because of my abject FEAR of something happening to a wedding cake enroute. So, for me, this was a nightmare, not to mention that I had to find space to HAUL the cake - and THEN a totally removed space to haul the hot pieces of chicken so they wouldn't fall on the cake. Do you know how much SPACE that cake took? Do you have any idea how many boxes it takes to hold 500 pieces of chicken? YIKES. I still sweat thinking about that.
Got to the church to discover that the MOH had just been screamed at and ordered out of the dressing room. "I want to be ALONE!!!" Okay, Greta. (Garbo. Anybody remember that quote? Cricket. Cricket. Alrighty then....) She was upset. Tried to help calm her down.
Carried the cake into the reception area. The cake table was undecorated. I asked who was taking over from here. Cricket. Cricket. I seem to get that a lot.
So all the cakes were safely conveyed inside, I set up the table, decorated it (hey, I got out of it the day before, so see, I helped on the day of! ) And then set out the sheets and tiered the main cake, including the topper. Whew.
Went to check on the chicken in the kitchen to make sure it had been unloaded. Panic was still ensuing in the bridal chamber at this point, where Bridezilla was shrieking because the groom had just seen her on her way to use the facilities.
The ceremony was ready to start. We were all excusing and playing off the bride's behavior using the “extreme stress” card. The chicken was sitting lonely & forgotten in the kitchen, next to some food service-sized cans of corn, lemonade mix, tea mix, and pork & beans. Ummmm, who was in charge of the reception meal? An “older couple.” Nobody seemed to know the names of these elusive people, or where they were, just that they had everything under control. Only they never showed. Ever. Another of Bridezilla's back-outs.
At the very last moment that the baked beans could be prepared in time for the reception, I decided to act. I thought about pretending I didn’t notice that the kitchen was unmanned, but I just couldn’t. I mean, there were hundreds of people in that auditorium. So I grabbed a future SIL and we set up the buffet servers, I found enough ingredients to make baked beans (I mean, was she just planning on the old folks heating up plain pork and beans? GROSS!!!! )
We got everything prepared, made a few gallons of beverages and set up the serving area just in time to sneak into the wedding to see the "I Do's". Nice.
Reception went well. B-zilla was gracious and friendly and grateful. Well, except for the pictures, which were kind of harrowing, I heard, and included an ambulance visit. Don't ask. Really, don't ask. Anyway, so far, so good. After the reception, the folks she had recruited to return the church and reception area to their former splendor mysteriously vaporized. Surprise, surprise. Guess who had to tear down? My family and a few of her new in-laws. I mean, we couldn't just LEAVE it a mess and walk out!
Honeymoon:
Long story short, lots of medical issues for B-zill, which for some reason, were well-broadcast during the honeymoon via telephone, and recounted afterward to anyone who asked an idle question. UTI. Lower ab pain. ER visits at the honeymoon destination. Cyst on the ovary, which had burst. I said to my dh at the time "Okay, she's got the UTI because she's not peeing post- and those cysts are called EGGS, people. She ovulated. Let's inform the media. I'll bet you dollars to donuts we are in for an announcement in about a month."
Post-Honeymoon:
I took about a week off when they got back from their honeymoon to let B-zill settle in to her new job at our business. I gave her my desk right outside the boss' office, even set her up with office supplies and a sweet note. To thank me, she dug up all the passwords to all the business accounts and CHANGED them so that I could no longer access any of our corporate financial info -- which is my primary job. Without calling to ask me any questions, she paid all our utility bills - twice! Boss told me all financial matters had been taken care of, as if it was FINALLY in the hands of someone competent. It has taken me MONTHS to straighten out all havoc that happened the week I was gone.
That week was to be her very last in the office, because sure enough....she had a bun in the oven.
And let me tell you, NO ONE has had it as rough as she during a pregnancy. Cough. Cough. Multiple ER and Immediate care clinic visits. Refused to call the OB for advice, just demanded to go to the hospital. Pregzilla's dh was pressed into service to do ALL laundry, dishes and housework, because she was too sick, too tired, too sore, too unwilling. All those glowing promises she made about being eager to learn the ropes at the office. Blah. No dice. Which, trust me...is OKAY with me. (And trust me, I've had difficult pregnancies too, but you find a way to go on, to do what has to be done. I mean, if you can't lift the laundry basket, you loop a belt through the handle and drag it to the washer & dryer and back. Not Pregzilla. She shuts DOWN. "Dh, do the laundry. I can't carry the basket.")
I just feel badly for her dh. Such high hopes for marriage. I guess he should have known those red flags were not part of a parade, huh?
And that is the story.
Chapter 1 - Pregzilla: The Baby Shower (The post that started it all)
I got an email today from my boss' pregnant wife - she's also a very casual acquaintance, but I don't know her that well -- she and my boss are newlyweds. The first part of the email was a personal apology for not having already let me know about her baby shower. She excused it by blaming pregnancy brain. Why is SHE sorry that SHE didn't let me know about her baby shower? What happened to the invitation? Isn't the business of inviting someone else's job?
Apparently not. Read on... Here's a clip, which was, I'm sure, part of a mass email....
Just wanted to send a reminder regarding the baby shower!! :-) It's just one week away!!! We are so excited to get to celebrate this little man with each of you! He truly is a blessing! Many of you know the amount years of prayers, tears, and heartache I experienced waiting for this little guy!
Okay, she's 25 and has been married for not quite eight months: wed six weeks after she met her dh. Baby was an unplanned "honeymoon bonus" and is due in 2 months. How many "years" is that?
Here's the rest: Baby Shower is Saturday, June 14th, at XXXXXXXXX. (our place of business) If you need directions, just let me know! :-)If you would, please try to RSVP before June 10th, so we can know for certain how much food to prepare and how many seats to set up! :-)You can RSVP either via email to XXXXX or my cell at XXXXXXX.
We are registered at Babies R Us! www.babiesrus.com or the two locations here in xxxxxxx!!! We have been very blessed, and many people have given us a large portion of the things that we will need. We have been blessed with clothing from newborn on, which was a huge blessing!!! :-) There are still a few things that we are lacking, which I have included on the registry.Hope to hear from you soon!!
Accccckkkk!!! I don't even know what to say or do. Why am I getting this from HER instead of a friend or relative of hers? My first, best guess is that she's alienated everyone around her, sadly, to the point that no one WANTS to host a shower for her. She's got a passel of sisters-in-law, all who have been taken aback - first by Bridezilla, then by moody, whiny, hermit-like Pregzilla. Don't know about her friends, but it seems she used to have a bunch, and suddenly none. It's just so sad. And tacky....and pathetic....and I feel bad for her and wish I could be supportive. I even wish I'd known ahead of time that this was going to happen -- I'd have hosted the stupid thing.
Our travel baseball schedule won't allow me to actually attend the shower. (Thank God. ) And I'm beyond embarrassed for her that she's handling things this way. I'm honestly not sure she knows any different -- but SURELY she does, right? I don't know though -- she didn't send out bridal shower or wedding thank yous either.
Her dh works for a non-profit ministry, so I know the money is tight, but... This isn't a charity fundraiser! I'm of the old school of thought that would never dream of even having a mother host a shower, for fear of looking greedy for her child. Let alone HOSTING YOUR OWN!! I mean, if no one offers to give you a shower, well, then, you don't have one. Am I nuts?
Can anyone think of a truly kind, gentle way to send my regrets? I'm at a total loss.
Ugh. Pretty sure not. I am certain potential to procreate was a prime factor in her suitability to marry this guy, according to his family. He is nearing 40, and had developed pretty specific requirements for a mate, I think, which included youth, attractiveness and presumed fertility. Which makes him sound like a perv , and he's really not, he just isn't heavy on couth.
I think her primary distress was more on the order of "27 Dresses." Poor tortured thing.
Yes, I know, they're both real pieces of work. And they seem to be the type people that are totally oblivious to that fact, too. One comment several weeks post-wedding from the groom: "I hate gift cards. Why can't people just give cash?!"
He needed a wife who would dole out an attitude adjustment where he has "jerkitis" from being a bachelor and only thinking of himself for so many years, and instead he married a chick with the same disease.
Pregzilla grieved for two weeks when she found out she was having "his" boy instead of "her" girl. Literally in a deep depression. She wouldn't leave the house, called the office whining at him to bring her something to eat (Um, get up off the couch and walk to the kitchen, princess.), snapped, screamed at or ignored everyone else, and made her dh sleep in the living room.
Another Fishie comment: Ok, so that was really tacky...but please remember (once you stop laughing) that she's your bosses wife. If it was me I'd send a small gift (think target clearance...) with a card expressing my regrets on not being able to attend. We can help you laugh, but you've still got to work with that guy...(husband to Bridezilla, Pregzilla and soon to be New-Momzilla?)
Yeah. Bingo....And I'd like to place odds that Post-Partumzilla will be a scream, too. Can't wait for that.
From Sparky...So, when did the "little man" become such a blessing if that's how she initially felt?
Honestly? For one, she must have made some sort of peace with it, but mostly -- how will she ever get anyone to foot the bill for all the cool baby stuff she wants if she doesn't project some enthusiasm for the fundraiser?
Later: I wish I had NEVER looked at that gift registry at babiesrus.com. The "registrant's message?" WE HAVE BEEN VERY BLESSED TO RECEIVE CLOTHING FROM NEWBORN SIZES UP! OUR NEEDS ARE ALL SELECTED HERE ON THIS REGISTRY! THANK YOU!!!
Their "needs?" A $200 toy box. A $60 shopping cart seat cover. A $150 baby monitor system. TEN 92-count boxes of NEWBORN sized diapers! (Which means she's planning on the baby staying below 8 lbs for about 3 months!!!)Etc, etc, etc, etc.
SIXTY bottles. SIXTY!! And she's breastfeeding, and planning to stay at home with the baby. What the HECK is she planning to do with all those bottles? How many can you go through between washings??? Where would you PUT that many bottles?? I breastfed, and w/ my last son, I had ONE bottle that I washed between uses when I needed it. (Okay, that's probably not normal, but sheesh. SIXTY??) If I was actually going to the shower, I might contemplate the shock value of actually getting these - but alas, I'm not, and alas, that would be $80 plus tax.
She asked for SEVEN Medela nipple shields. 7????? How many boobs does she have? Maybe I should go for the 250 baby hangers she requested. Oh, wait! I'm thinking the 25,000 baby wipes might make a cute gift. And I could tie the ONE bottle of baby wash she asked for to the top with ribbon!!!! Okay, I gotta stop......
Natty's queries on the boorish maneuver: Seriously, I'm no baby expert, but she sounds like she doesn't know what to order from the bulk store for her ... um, baby daycare. What kind of child does she think she is gonna be caring for??
Apparently, one with a very active digestive system . But who otherwise, will be inherently clean and will not need baths.
I'd laugh, but I'm kinda horrified at how exactly she is gonna take care of this first kid with the things that she "thinks" she "needs." The bottles? And the nipple shields? How do you even need more than one at a time, how many does she plan on shoving into his ONE MOUTH?
More concern about the registry from snortiesmom: but ya wouldn't want her to be strapped for cash and have no way to buy size one diapers once she runs out of the 1000 newborn diapers she surely will receive at the shower )
Oh shoot, no worries there. She requested 10 cases of the 216-count size 1 Pampers. (Yep-2,160 dipes) Which, added to the 3 months she'll have covered with newborn Pampers, should last the little guy well into his second year. Maybe she thinks the 8-14 lb limit means how much they'll hold, ala Jeff Foxworthy.
All right, some other items from the registry: TWO infant bathtubs (they have one bathroom), AND an additional infant bath support. But only one baby towel. ONE HUNDRED TWENTY outlet covers - presumably for their tiny home and the home of everyone they know.There's so much more...but the really expensive (and unnecessary)stuff - there is honestly enough for a toney daycare here!
Apparently not. Read on... Here's a clip, which was, I'm sure, part of a mass email....
Just wanted to send a reminder regarding the baby shower!! :-) It's just one week away!!! We are so excited to get to celebrate this little man with each of you! He truly is a blessing! Many of you know the amount years of prayers, tears, and heartache I experienced waiting for this little guy!
Okay, she's 25 and has been married for not quite eight months: wed six weeks after she met her dh. Baby was an unplanned "honeymoon bonus" and is due in 2 months. How many "years" is that?
Here's the rest: Baby Shower is Saturday, June 14th, at XXXXXXXXX. (our place of business) If you need directions, just let me know! :-)If you would, please try to RSVP before June 10th, so we can know for certain how much food to prepare and how many seats to set up! :-)You can RSVP either via email to XXXXX or my cell at XXXXXXX.
We are registered at Babies R Us! www.babiesrus.com or the two locations here in xxxxxxx!!! We have been very blessed, and many people have given us a large portion of the things that we will need. We have been blessed with clothing from newborn on, which was a huge blessing!!! :-) There are still a few things that we are lacking, which I have included on the registry.Hope to hear from you soon!!
Accccckkkk!!! I don't even know what to say or do. Why am I getting this from HER instead of a friend or relative of hers? My first, best guess is that she's alienated everyone around her, sadly, to the point that no one WANTS to host a shower for her. She's got a passel of sisters-in-law, all who have been taken aback - first by Bridezilla, then by moody, whiny, hermit-like Pregzilla. Don't know about her friends, but it seems she used to have a bunch, and suddenly none. It's just so sad. And tacky....and pathetic....and I feel bad for her and wish I could be supportive. I even wish I'd known ahead of time that this was going to happen -- I'd have hosted the stupid thing.
Our travel baseball schedule won't allow me to actually attend the shower. (Thank God. ) And I'm beyond embarrassed for her that she's handling things this way. I'm honestly not sure she knows any different -- but SURELY she does, right? I don't know though -- she didn't send out bridal shower or wedding thank yous either.
Her dh works for a non-profit ministry, so I know the money is tight, but... This isn't a charity fundraiser! I'm of the old school of thought that would never dream of even having a mother host a shower, for fear of looking greedy for her child. Let alone HOSTING YOUR OWN!! I mean, if no one offers to give you a shower, well, then, you don't have one. Am I nuts?
Can anyone think of a truly kind, gentle way to send my regrets? I'm at a total loss.
Twill's suggestion:
Dear XXX, Congratulations! I wish you a safe and healthy pregnancy. Unfortunately, I won't be able to attend your shower, but I hope you have a wonderful time. Sincerely, ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Now, you DID say you wanted a truly kind and gentle response. If you change your mind, you can always go with:
Dear XXX, Wow! You must have been planning to get pregnant since you were in high school if you had to wait years and years for this to occur. Aren't you lucky that all of your planning and prayers and tears paid off by marrying an extremely fertile dude? Good luck with the shower. Hope you're able to get that wish list filled, but if not, don't worry. I'm positive that someone like you will figure out a way to get more free stuff after the baby is born. Sorry I can't attend, but real life invades and I must leave Fantasy Pregnancy World to go attend to it. I'm not too worried, though, because I'm certain someone like you will cry and pray real hard for another baby real soon, so I'm sure there will be another one down the road.
Kelly asks: As for the years of heartache and tears, do you know if maybe she was diagnosed as infertile at one time or another?Ugh. Pretty sure not. I am certain potential to procreate was a prime factor in her suitability to marry this guy, according to his family. He is nearing 40, and had developed pretty specific requirements for a mate, I think, which included youth, attractiveness and presumed fertility. Which makes him sound like a perv , and he's really not, he just isn't heavy on couth.
I think her primary distress was more on the order of "27 Dresses." Poor tortured thing.
Yes, I know, they're both real pieces of work. And they seem to be the type people that are totally oblivious to that fact, too. One comment several weeks post-wedding from the groom: "I hate gift cards. Why can't people just give cash?!"
He needed a wife who would dole out an attitude adjustment where he has "jerkitis" from being a bachelor and only thinking of himself for so many years, and instead he married a chick with the same disease.
Pregzilla grieved for two weeks when she found out she was having "his" boy instead of "her" girl. Literally in a deep depression. She wouldn't leave the house, called the office whining at him to bring her something to eat (Um, get up off the couch and walk to the kitchen, princess.), snapped, screamed at or ignored everyone else, and made her dh sleep in the living room.
Another Fishie comment: Ok, so that was really tacky...but please remember (once you stop laughing) that she's your bosses wife. If it was me I'd send a small gift (think target clearance...) with a card expressing my regrets on not being able to attend. We can help you laugh, but you've still got to work with that guy...(husband to Bridezilla, Pregzilla and soon to be New-Momzilla?)
Yeah. Bingo....And I'd like to place odds that Post-Partumzilla will be a scream, too. Can't wait for that.
From Sparky...So, when did the "little man" become such a blessing if that's how she initially felt?
Honestly? For one, she must have made some sort of peace with it, but mostly -- how will she ever get anyone to foot the bill for all the cool baby stuff she wants if she doesn't project some enthusiasm for the fundraiser?
Later: I wish I had NEVER looked at that gift registry at babiesrus.com. The "registrant's message?" WE HAVE BEEN VERY BLESSED TO RECEIVE CLOTHING FROM NEWBORN SIZES UP! OUR NEEDS ARE ALL SELECTED HERE ON THIS REGISTRY! THANK YOU!!!
Their "needs?" A $200 toy box. A $60 shopping cart seat cover. A $150 baby monitor system. TEN 92-count boxes of NEWBORN sized diapers! (Which means she's planning on the baby staying below 8 lbs for about 3 months!!!)Etc, etc, etc, etc.
SIXTY bottles. SIXTY!! And she's breastfeeding, and planning to stay at home with the baby. What the HECK is she planning to do with all those bottles? How many can you go through between washings??? Where would you PUT that many bottles?? I breastfed, and w/ my last son, I had ONE bottle that I washed between uses when I needed it. (Okay, that's probably not normal, but sheesh. SIXTY??) If I was actually going to the shower, I might contemplate the shock value of actually getting these - but alas, I'm not, and alas, that would be $80 plus tax.
She asked for SEVEN Medela nipple shields. 7????? How many boobs does she have? Maybe I should go for the 250 baby hangers she requested. Oh, wait! I'm thinking the 25,000 baby wipes might make a cute gift. And I could tie the ONE bottle of baby wash she asked for to the top with ribbon!!!! Okay, I gotta stop......
Natty's queries on the boorish maneuver: Seriously, I'm no baby expert, but she sounds like she doesn't know what to order from the bulk store for her ... um, baby daycare. What kind of child does she think she is gonna be caring for??
Apparently, one with a very active digestive system . But who otherwise, will be inherently clean and will not need baths.
I'd laugh, but I'm kinda horrified at how exactly she is gonna take care of this first kid with the things that she "thinks" she "needs." The bottles? And the nipple shields? How do you even need more than one at a time, how many does she plan on shoving into his ONE MOUTH?
More concern about the registry from snortiesmom: but ya wouldn't want her to be strapped for cash and have no way to buy size one diapers once she runs out of the 1000 newborn diapers she surely will receive at the shower )
Oh shoot, no worries there. She requested 10 cases of the 216-count size 1 Pampers. (Yep-2,160 dipes) Which, added to the 3 months she'll have covered with newborn Pampers, should last the little guy well into his second year. Maybe she thinks the 8-14 lb limit means how much they'll hold, ala Jeff Foxworthy.
All right, some other items from the registry: TWO infant bathtubs (they have one bathroom), AND an additional infant bath support. But only one baby towel. ONE HUNDRED TWENTY outlet covers - presumably for their tiny home and the home of everyone they know.There's so much more...but the really expensive (and unnecessary)stuff - there is honestly enough for a toney daycare here!
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