1. The realtor sent, at 5 p.m., 17 pages of documents that Primo needs to sign and return re: the sale of the house
2. Primo has not packed at all and we have a 10:00 a.m. flight tomorrow morning.
Our conversation earlier today:
Primo: How come you never have to stay up all night to get things done?
Me: Because I plan.
Primo: How can that happen?
Me: Because I define the critical path and if I have things to do, I do not go to political events or to sing karaoke.
Me: I am going to put those bratwurst in the freezer.
Primo: Why don't you just do it later? You don't have to do it now.
Me: May I refer you to Exhibit A?
As in, Primo always waits until the last minute to do stuff because he assumes nothing will ever come up.
And yet, things come up.
Like the house sells after just nine days on the market.
This is good news. But Primo is all stressed out and he is the Typhoid Mary of stress, which means there is stress all over our house.
All I want to do is to pack (I have had everything planned since this weekend) and go to bed.
Anyhow - today is the ten-year anniversary of our meeting. I went to our college reunion, thinking I might find a Used Husband. (Actually, I was still sort of involved with the Moroccan Millionaire, or at least that was the story I was giving to my classmates, as I had just been laid off from my job and had neither husband nor children to give me status.)