We are heading out for vacation tomorrow and are chasing our tail at work to pay for it. So fast food for lunch it is. But the thing is, Bryan’s new Mac was supposed to arrive today. I tracked it and apparently Fed Ex got all “confused” when, like the jackass I am, I put half of our work address and half of our home address in the shipping line. Luckily Mr. Nice FedEx Delivery Man didn’t actually take the shipment out of the warehouse because otherwise, according to Ms. Bitchy Fed Ex Customer Service Lady, I would have to contact Apple and tell them what a jackass I am. Because Apple sent the package, and even though I was the one who shelled out the 2 grand, they have all the shipping diversionary power in this scenario. But alas, since Mr. Nice Fed Ex Delivery Man was totally befuddled by the fucked up mish-mash address this morning, the package is sitting at Fed Ex, where I do not need to consult with Apple and can simply go pick it up. So, off I go.
And on my way back, I will pick up Wendy’s for Bryan and I – because I as I said, we are slammed getting ready for vacation (but not too slammed to add a post to this blog, apparently).
I told Bryan I would call him when I got close to the drive-through so he could tell me of his culinary choices. And he said, “Yeah. Call me!” And held up 6 fingers.
I looked at him and said, “What in the holy hell are you doing?”
“I’m showing you my phone number, just like American Idol.”
I love that man.