Well, the next time I need to summon positive energy, I'm going to ask you, Internet. Because the invitations came out amazingly. No, better than amazing. And I've inflated their wonderfulness to the bride so much that she's going to expect them to crap golden nuggets that can be redeemed at her gift registry for kitchen gadgets.
I guess the situation is much like the movie "Jurassic Park." After all the hype, I expected to actually get my lower half ripped off at the torso by a dinosaur. And I didn't. So the movie was a huge let down.
Lifelike my ass.
Although many of you expressed interest in seeing pictures that attempt to capture the greatness that are these invitations, I can't post any. And not because an image won't do them justice. Which it won't, but that's not why. I can't because I want Timberly to get hers in the mail first. So however many days it takes to send an envelope from Pennsylvania to Nebraska ... well, that's how many days you have to wait to see their awsomeness.
The fact that I got everything done in one day was completely contingent upon Toby and the lady at the Target customer service desk cooperating. And much to my relief, both did. Well, for the most part.
I had just gotten done watching a "Surviving Motherhood" episode for no other reason than to make myself appreciate my stress-free child-free days. And this particular episode focused on a toddler with serious separation anxiety issues. The mom couldn't even put her in a stroller -- she had to carry her daughter and push the stroller at the same time. Shoot me.
Then I looked down at the dog in my lap who follows me more closely than my own shadow and realized if he had vocal cords that enabled him to cry when I set him on the floor, he would.
So when I went upstairs to work on printing out the invitations and Toby stayed behind to eat some breakfast, I chalked it up to my good dog ownership skills. Toby would so not be like that baby if, well, if he was human. He can occupy his own time. He doesn't need me every second of every day.
But when Jerry came home, I quickly discovered what Toby had been "occupying his time" with.
Which were shredded into a bazillion pieces all over the hallway and stairs.
And what did I do? I promptly blamed Jerry for leaving the closet door open. Bad Jerry.
Two completely destroyed slippers later, I had all of the invitations printed out and constructed, all of the envelopes addressed and stickered with postage and my return address. The only thing missing was the little slip announcing that the couple registered at Target.
When I explained to Janice at the customer service desk later that night that I am helping to host a shower for my friend who just registered at her store, she smiled and started asking completely absurd questions like when the shower is and what I'm planning to decorate with. I felt like telling her she wasn't invited, but then I realized that Janice was the difference between mailing the invitations today or next week. And I do not deal well with a task lingering on my to-do list.
I needed those friggin slips.
So I obliged and explained how we would be eating cake or something, which I'm sure came as a huge surprise. I mean, cake? At a bridal shower? HOW NOVEL!
After painting a detailed picture of what each place setting would look like and giving her an idea of what I would be wearing, she seemed willing to hear me out. I explained that my friend received the slips in her registry package, but seeing that she lives in Nebraska and all, it posed a problem. Because I need them now. Today. Right this very second. From you. So reach your chubby little fingers into that drawer to your left and pull a box out for me before I bludgeon you with my 40-pound purse.
"Well, normally you have to call this toll-free number and request a pack and they come in one to two weeks."
I felt myself wind up like a batter about to slug a fast pitch.
"But I suppose I could check to see if we have any here," she said. "Considering your circumstance."
"Thank you," I said, feeling my shoulders loosen slightly.
And then she pulled out a box. "It looks like it's your lucky day!" she said. "We have one left."
I couldn't help but think that, no, no it's actually Janice's lucky day because I didn't need to resort to physical violence. This bridesmaid doesn't mess around.
"How many do you need?"
OH, GIVE ME A BREAK LADY! JUST HAND ME THE BOX! I mean, what was she going to do if there weren't enough? Magically duplicate it with her mind powers? Besides, the thing was huge. At first glance, I estimated there were at least 50 slips in there -- plenty for my 28 invitations.
But I didn't say that. I just thought it. Instead, I said, "I need 30."
THEN SHE PROCEEDED TO UNWRAP THE PLASTIC, OPEN THE BOX AND START COUNTING.
And the plastic almost got the best of her. I mean, she wrestled with it for at least 45 minutes. I was about ready to reach out and grab it from her non-dexterous fingers and run for the door when she somehow managed to pry it open WITH HER TEETH.
Yes. With her teeth.
Then she sorted through it like a bank teller doling out cash, counting each one back to me to make sure I was getting what I needed. Thankfully, when she got to 20 and discovered she wasn't even halfway through the deck, she suddenly realized what I had known immediately just by looking at the container: THERE ARE MORE THAN ENOUGH. Then she shuffled them together, spent another 45 minutes trying to cram them back into the box and handed it to me.
"I hope you have a lovely shower."
Damn. She just HAD to be nice, too. Just ratchet up another notch on my guilt belt, lady. Thanks.
So, long story short, these invitations are awesome. Totally worth a pair of slippers and a verbal sparring session with Janice at Target.
And if anyone says otherwise, I will use the invitations to paper cut them to death.