I am not organized about the holidays. Not in that have-everything-purchased-before-July way that some people manage. Nevertheless, in my own charming, right-brained process, everything essential gets done. What would the holidays be without the associated nervous breakdown?
However, I think I blew it last night.
In my defense, my brain was addled from a scene in Lost in Austen, which I had rented from the library and was watching with Molly before the phone rang.
This was the pivotal image.
Can you blame me for being a neural blank?
If you haven’t seen Lost in Austen, that’s a scene where the main character — a modern woman brought through a portal into Jane Austen’s book — insists Elliot Cowan immerse himself to see how he compares to her fantasy man.
(Don’t you wonder what she would have done if he turned out to have moobs? Maybe an accessory nipple or three? I know I do. There are precisely the questions that keep me awake at night.)
Anyway, re the phone call: My cool, amazing t-shirt gifts from Think Geek which my sister figured would earn me superstar status with my nephews? They arrived. Earlier than anticipated. When there’s no one home to receive them. 🙁
Also, they come with a hefty customs fee. I’ll pay my sister back, of course, but I find it less than mannerly that it needs to be done by the receiver, even though they have a billing address which is different than the delivery address.
(Hello? Is it just me, or is a $30 customs bill on four t-shirts not a little pricey.)
I got off the phone and returned to the movie, secure in the knowledge I’d reach my sister today and work out the remaining details. Then this morning I discovered I’ve misplaced the paper with the delivery service’s phone number, the exact fee amount.
So that’s it then. I’ve been exposed as a fake, a fraud, and a fraudulent fake of an organizer.
Naturally, I consoled myself with this:
What is the point of this post, you’re now asking?
Well, I’m curious: If you found a portal and were able to enter into Pride and Prejudice, which Mr. Darcy would you prefer to have greet you?
Also, what test would you administer to determine his nom-worthiness? His smoulder? The wet-shirt scene? Some other criteria?
While you ponder that, here’s another post you might enjoy: Writing friend Gretchen McNeil has a fun, self-administered test which determines which of Jane Austen’s heroines you most resemble by temperament.
So what’s it to be, peeps? What manner of gauntlet would you throw?