It's all in the delivery

This morning I greeted the day after St. Patrick's Day with a glass of water and a Tylenol. The Rev., The Dad, and I met some friends for dinner at a great Mexican place and we ended up talking until midnight. Granted, it was conversation fueled by liters of margaritas (seriously, that's how the restaurant served them) and later, liqueurs. By that time I had switched to green tea, because when we left the restaurant I was two steps away from being in love with everyone. Those of you who have been to that brink (and have either sensibly drawn back or leaped off, you choose) know exactly what I am saying. I think we got most of problems of the world solved, but since we don't have the ear of a celebrity or celebrity status, I seriously doubt anyone would listen to what we have to say anyway. Besides, who wants to listen to a (gasp!), Christian?

Before the love-fest occurred, however, The Rev. Drove me to work so he wouldn't have to take the $5 dollar car down to San Diego to pick up The Dad. I don't think my father would have fit into the Nissan, but I digress. I always enjoy carpooling with The Rev. because it is time that we can spend together communicating all of our needs and desires, hopes and dreams. Yeah, right.

The Rev. was actually rushing me (it's usually the other way around), and I flew out the door clutching my plate of cupcakes, a pair of extra shoes, a green sweater, my work bag with all my papers, and my purse. The Rev. was so kind as to lock the front door for me (with all that I had any extra hand, you know), and I piled everything in the backseat. By the time we got on the road, I was turning around trying to get everything organized:

"Give me a second to get all my crap straight. I feel like I have been so disorganized for the past 82 days."

"Um, I actually think it's been longer than that."

"Do you practice saying these things to me?"

"No, but you have streaks of organization marred by long periods of chaos."

"You know, it's all in how you say it."

"What? I'm speaking the truth in love."

"No, you are tramping through the tulips to get the front door. You want to come in my front door? I ain't letting you in."

"Why are you being this way?"

"Because you could have said it so much more nicely."

"What should I have said?"

"Honey, I know that your clutter is the sign of a busy and fulfilled life. Here, let me help you."

"But that's not helping you get more organized."

"Again, we go back to my original question, 'Do you practice saying these things?'"

This is only a snippet of our conversation, but the whole drive to work we were giving each other a hard time about organizational skills, fighting fairly (because I told him I may be disorganized, but he doesn't listen), and whether or not he was going to make me listen to bagpipe music the whole drive.

I think he was hoping I would drink the fifth margarita.