It’s Always a Good Day When I don’t Have to Cut a Bitch

The organizer of the volleyball camp emailed me today with sincere apologies; seems his original email to me was typed incorrectly yet did not bounce back to him and he was unaware that we had not recieved the necessary information. He assured me that The Teenager is indeed registered for the camp so that is a go. In typical teenaged fashion, her reaction to this announcement was a combination of relief and utter hubris; “Well I better be.”

Yes, for this child I threatened to break out the flying monkeys; you’re welcome, sweetheart.

In the same vein, Hugh recently broke his glasses and I was charged with the task of taking them to the optometrist for repair or replacement. The receptionist at the optometrist’s office was….less than helpful. In fact, she barely looked at the glasses before informing me that they no longer carry those frames and that I would be better off going to a local jeweler to have them soldered (they broke in half, on the nose piece and, try as hard as I might, Hugh refuses to tape them up and wear them, nerd-style. Have I mentioned that Hugh is a buzz kill?).

I thanked the less-than-interested receptionist and ventured to the jewelry store where I was informed that the frames were made of a metal that cannot be soldered and, had the receptionist bothered to look at them, she would have known that.

When I reported back to Hugh he was….less than impressed. He in turn called the optometrist’s office and was met with the same apathy that I was; the receptionist told him that he would have to make an appointment for new glasses because they didn’t have his frames and she didn’t “think” they could get them. So, basically, bummer for you and your super-special favorite frames.

Needless to say, we are in the market for a new optometrist and Hugh and I are both deserving of a medal for showing such a degree of restraint in not, well…cutting a bitch.