Pre-Keys

In the time between my Spring weddings and leaving for the Keys, lots of good, summertime things happened. 

Mom, Dad, and Brett helped finish up my Spring season while I milked my Covid recovery time. 

We did some porch sittin', some dock sittin', and took the dogs for a marshy adventure.

I had my first true, angry client ask for a refund. It was shocking as well as thrilling. There I was, regrettably adding dried palms to pink arrangements by the bride's request and then on the day of the wedding, she had a bridesmaid come tell me she didn't like them. So I took the palms out again and sat around feeling like I had let her down. 

The very next morning at 7:00, the groom, who I'd never met or spoken to, sent me and email explaining that "they" were very disappointed with the flowers and that I changed all of their decor plans without telling them. I could tell he'd never read the proposal and that she made him send the email. He told me that the planner had to remake the arrangements because I was not on site to do so. They felt they deserved a refund. 

So I emailed the planner who told me that she did not have to remake anything and that the bride and groom told her the reception space was lovely. So I emailed the groom and told him that he and his wife need to discuss the proposal she signed and compare it to what was presented. Good luck with your new bride, buddy. She seems great.
Like most people with a conscious, I'm the first person to suggest that I did a bad job ,and I often think I should send money back after weddings because I think I could do better. (I never do but it's he thought that counts.) In this case, I knew I had over-delivered and I was giddy to write back with a polite "oh hellllll nah." I've only ever felt that powerful over at the realty when telling people they owed rent. Do you think I'm secretly full of boiling rage? It's the injustice!

Here's a picture of some baby coons Dad found in the attic. We cooed and coddled and then set them up for success until Mama Coon came to get them. I loved them so much, it hurt way down deep inside. 

Someone on Facebook posted this photo from our time at high school. I showed Brett the picture and he was taken aback. "That's what your high school looked like?" he asked. "Was it yard time at the detention center?"

"Yeah, it's James Island. What do you expect? You know I'm not actually educated right?" Then he pulled up a picture of his high school with it's real buildings and trees and benches for people to sit upon. "That looks like a movie set!" I exclaimed.

This explains a lot about our expectations in life.

In the time that I finished writing my book and then turned on it, Dad set me up to meet with a guy that runs a local newspaper in the hopes that he would help me cut the line for a writing internship for a prestigious local magazine. (It was very Chris Union.) In turn, the mag required it's unpaid and temporary interns to have a masters or PhD ... so I'm not sure they got any applicants.
"They think too highly of themselves over there," Newspaper man told me. I wound up accidentally wooing Newspaper Man who is trying to help me by suggesting I write a new column for the paper. This is very exiting and kind but he writes about history and politics and I like... just want to talk about myself? He gave me my first writing assignment and like most men, left out all of the important information as well as what he wants it to be about. I'm working on it now and suddenly think, perhaps I'm not a writer.

I also heckled a friend who edits a magazine in Mt. Pleasant to give me an assignment or two. So I've got some pots on the stove but like... where do I get to write about what I think about things? 

Pip has taken to lounging on the back of the couch in her perpetual effort to be as close to us as possible. I'm not mad about it. 

There was an abbreviated celebration for Dad's birthday, a handful of good friend visits, and Brett and I have been cooking decadent meals for ourselves. We brag about it to our friends and then invite them over to have some but when we try to replicate them, we tank every time. Every. Time. Our friends don't believe us anymore. 

Brett and I also had to get our yearly blood work done for his company health insurance program and mine came back suggesting that I have pre-diabetes so now Brett won't let me have dessert. The blood report told me to "lose weight and eat better."

"Oh my blood work has said I'm pre-diabetic for years. Don't even worry about it." - Chris Union