oh, who the hell knows.

This morning I went off without my travel mug o’ coffee. Oh, no! I said. I went off without my travel mug o’ coffee!

Ten minutes or so later, the pastor came into my office bearing a freshly brewed cup of office coffee. It’s terrible, as office coffee almost inevitably is. But it was very kind, and I appreciated it.

Someone called at eleven thirty last night and left and message on the answering machine. Periodically people call to ask if the pastor will perform their quicky marriage. He always says no and tells one of three stories about quicky weddings. Today he kept talking:

Now take your sister’s wedding. I bet she’s planning like crazy. I read on facebook that she’s looking for cake toppers.

I should add that he’s been madly hinting that he wants to do her wedding. She’s having a former pastor she knows better–and who speaks with less hillbilly grammar–do it. I don’t want to be a part of the conversation that reveals this fact to him. At all.


So how’s all that wedding planning going?

Good. …Do we have to talk about this now? I’m way tired of wedding chat.

Yesterday I spent an hour and a half at the mall shopping for bridesmaid jewelery. This morning I was late coming in–and forgot to pour my coffee–because my mom was banging on about something wedding-y. Tomorrow I’ll be helping out with the fittings for two of the other three bridesmaids. I’m not exactly Susie Taffeta. It bores me.

I’m secretly appalled by my sister’s taste in nearly everything. Barbecued ribs on rented china? Worst seventies cover band in America? Yeah. It’s not exactly tea with the queen, this wedding. But I am wildly supportive and quite helpful despite my boredom and distaste. I swear. Ask anyone. I should add, though, in the interest of even-handedness that I love, love, love my moh dress. Love. I plan on wearing it with a feather boa a while drinking bourbon and watching Law and Order as soon as this mess is over.

What? How do you spend your Monday nights? You mean you don’t wear formal wear and drink? Weirdo.

You should be happy for your sister! She’s getting married! It’s wonderful!

I am happy for my sister. I just find the trappings of wedding planning uninteresting and would love it if we could mostly keep the office a wedding planning-free zone.

I said it in a cheerful voice. A jovial voice. Not one bit of a bitter old maidish voice.

I’m sure you’re sad you’re not getting married, but I really wish you could have fun on your sister’s special day. You love your sister, don’t you?

I’m not sad I’m not getting married. I am sad you’re keeping me from working, though.

To be fair, I sometimes fret about my singleness standing between me and a chance to dress up like my state in the Mrs America pageant. The Mrs America pageant is hilarious and part of What I Love About America. Other than that, I’m good.

Sorry, sorry, sorry. He says this in a simpering voice every time I tell him that I don’t want to hear a poo story or that he’s talking when I’m trying to get shit done. It makes me crazy.

It’s fine. I just need to work.

Okay, okay, okay. He wanders off. Then calls from his office. It’s your sister’s special day! You should be excited.

Okay. Whatever.

I’ve been thinking of going in there to tell him to mind his fucking business. But I think I’ll probably just roll my eyes and drink some more of that coffee.