In which your intrepid heroine has adventures.

The first one, entirely positive, involved procuring our marriage license.

We took his firstborn son’s advice and went to a satellite county office, where the lines were shorter and the employees were civil. (As befits civil servants. A soupçon of bureaucratic humor, if you will.)

That burned an hour and forty-five minutes of PT.

When I got to work, we discovered that the bus/train passes which are needed tomorrow morning, were not here. The person who was supposed to pick them up last week, drove in all week, had the check to purchase the tickets with her, and was off work today. (She was under the impression that because the passes expire tomorrow, she could pick up the new ones when she came into work; unfortunately, they expire at 3:00a.m.)

So I got to take a company car, drive within a couple of miles of Beloved’s house, pick up the check, bring back the company car, bump another company car while trying to park The Behemoth (fill out an intra-office accident report), walk the check over to the DART station and come back with the passes, which I then distributed.

And then I went to lunch, about 45 minutes later than my usual late lunch. It has made for an extremely short afternoon.

In a few days, this will be funny. Thankfully, the office manager laughed (a little) when I told her I’d hit one of our other pool cars.

So, I have had an extra hour of driving today, and a brisk walk in brisk weather, and fresh air and sunshine and rosy cheeks, and people get to ride the buses and trains tomorrow, and other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, I have very little to show for this day.

I told Beloved that I wish we were already married, because this is one of those days where, (if I were still a drinking woman, there would be some serious elbow-bending once I got home,) an evening of mommy-and-daddy would do wonders for my frazzled nerves.

Eleven days. And now goodnight, because I have an appointment with NailDude to fix the thumbnail which I broke getting into Lorelai on Saturday, or maybe Sunday morning (I forget), and the little finger nail which is about to fly off and go into orbit.

Ms. Ravelled, quietly falling apart here in BigD. Over, and out.

(Bridal shower the first, tomorrow at lunch, tee hee!)