I gave work the old college try, but I had to complete a report for my boss to justify how many staff I need next year, and it involved math and I just could not make it happen. So I sent Matt a text that said, "S.O.S. If it takes five paralegals 40 hours each to work on 350 cases, how long would it take six paralegals to work on the same number of cases?"
But on my best day I'm no mathematician, so after a bad night of sleep and an early morning, a math equation with a tricky variable was a mountain I could not climb.
Matt responded that it would take six paralegals 33.14285714 hours to complete the work and so I wrote, "Using the same math, it would take six paralegals 33 hours...." and just crossed my fingers that when I clicked send my boss wouldn't reply and ask what math I was referring to exactly.
Because then I'd have to admit that I'd outsourced that particular task.
Anyway, tonight I decided to open my notes app to get some post ideas, because I knew I had a bunch of old notes in there where I'd jotted down things down I wanted to remember to write about.
And here is what I found.
So basically, I've got nothing, except a lot of confusion and a questionable situation involving the first lady, a jury, and a guillotine.
However, I do know what "wedding wardrobe forget stuff" means.
A friend of mine is getting married later this month, and she asked if I had any advice for the big day.
And of course, I did.
When Matt and I got married, our reception was at a beautiful old inn and restaurant. We stayed there overnight after the reception, and had reservations there for brunch the next morning.
And the brunch there is FANCY.
So, the morning after our wedding, as I proceed to get dressed for my first fancy brunch as someone's wife, I discovered that I had really fallen short in the packing department.
Because here is what I had in my bag: a pair of brown knockoff Ugg boots, a royal blue turtleneck cable knit sweater, and a pair of old, thin, black leggings that I typically reserve for cold, snowy days to wear UNDER MY PANTS because I am firmly in the camp of "leggings on their own are not pants."
Since skipping brunch was obviously not an option, it was either wear my wedding dress or wear my unfortunate getup. I felt that the wedding dress would draw more attention, so I decided to wear the leggings and turtleneck sweater. I figured that I would be fine as soon as we were seated. From the neck up I looked totally appropriate.
So, we entered the restaurant, led to a table, and then the hostess said, "Brunch is served buffet style."
And the buffet table was set up right in the middle of the formal dining room.
I have never perused a brunch buffet so quickly. I think I grabbed about eight pieces of french toast and some of bacon and rushed back to my seat before any other diners had the chance to notice my questionable outfit and absence of substantial pants.
I felt like Jo in Little Women, when she stands too close to the fireplace at the party and burns the back of her dress and has to shimmy along the wall so no one sees.
So my advice to my friend, the bride, was to make sure to pack an appropriate, complete outfit in your overnight bag.
And marry somebody who is good at math.