Update on the ruined surprise...
I don't think the surprise is ruined after all. Irish was an actor for a time but he couldn't be this good. Maybe he's torturing me. Anyway, the golf game that's supposed to last four hours on Saturday? The one that's supposed to buy me the time I need to get everything done? He's telling me he can be home early.
This is where I rely on Friend Steve to keep things on track. Everyone needs a Friend Steve. Sort of like that guy Sven in the Pizza Hut commercials.
So this week I'm list making and doing some shopping and trying to hide things around the house and in other people's garages. Unfortunately, a bit of my sanity seems to stay behind with the party supplies (maybe I should stay with my sanity and partake of the margaritas). Mostly because Irish has this terrible habit of dropping by the house unexpectedly ALL DAY LONG. So I have to drop what I'm doing like it's made of razors. And look innocent. Sixteen times a day.
Here's to hoping I don't prattle on about refried beans in my sleep (or worse yet, Friend Steve). While I'm at it, I hope you don't either.
This is where I rely on Friend Steve to keep things on track. Everyone needs a Friend Steve. Sort of like that guy Sven in the Pizza Hut commercials.
So this week I'm list making and doing some shopping and trying to hide things around the house and in other people's garages. Unfortunately, a bit of my sanity seems to stay behind with the party supplies (maybe I should stay with my sanity and partake of the margaritas). Mostly because Irish has this terrible habit of dropping by the house unexpectedly ALL DAY LONG. So I have to drop what I'm doing like it's made of razors. And look innocent. Sixteen times a day.
Here's to hoping I don't prattle on about refried beans in my sleep (or worse yet, Friend Steve). While I'm at it, I hope you don't either.