He said he’d call. Rather, I asked him to call and he said he would. Over the weekend.
Well folks, the weekend is over and I still have no idea when Date #7 plans to arrive on Friday, how long he plans to stay or if he’ll even show up.
Under ordinary circumstances, I might be able to tolerate his laissez faire approach to romantic entanglements (ordinarily, for example, I like the fact that he’s not a manic Type-A personality) but I’ve got another photo shoot this week, two production meetings and—oh yeah—The School’s entire End of the Year Concert to contend with and I have to re-choreograph all of the entrances and exits because the grand piano that was supposed to be moved off of the stage is being tuned so it’s got to stay put.
(“Don’t panic,” the music teacher said when she called me last week to break the news, “but we’re going to have to re-think a few things…”)
I also need to create 30 pairs of ribbon sticks in the next 24 hours, type up the program order for all of the other teachers and assemble the kids’ end of the year gifts bags from the bags and bags of sidewalk chalk, play dough and other dollar store goodies that have taken over my book shelf.
So yeah, I’m a bit more stressed out than usual, which is why I’m simply going to ask you to click here for today’s actual contribution to the blogosphere, stop allowing Date #7 to add to my list of Things To Worry About and get a move on.