So I finally GOT the shoes. They're GORGEOUS, and SOOOO comfortable. I love them to bits.
Problem? They're a full size too big. I look like a child in my mother's shoes.
It's my fault - I misread the sizing chart and thought I was an 8 instead of a 7.
But the bigger problem is this.
When I ordered the shoes originally, I had a customer service representative call me because the billing address I entered didn't match the billing address on my credit card. It didn't - they didn't give me the option of entering a Canadian billing address so I just typed in my brother's address in Michigan instead. That corrected, I asked the representative if, should I need to exchange the shoes, I could do so from Newfoundland, without the hassle of sending them to Ann Arbor first. She assured me that this would not be a problem.
Turns out she's a lying sack of poo.
Several increasingly irritated emails to customer service later, I find myself back at square one. Piperlime does not and will not ship internationally, no exceptions. So in order to return them I have to send them back to Michigan and get my brother to give them to UPS. Meanwhile I have to order another pair and have them shipped to Michigan and then hope against hope that they are the right size and that he and his wife remember to bring them up with them when they come for the wedding. I won't have them with me for my final dress fitting, and so will have to borrow a similar-height pair from my Maid of Honour. But that's a risk I'm willing to take in order to avoid further delays.
Added to that is the fact that I only have 45 days after the date of the order to return the suckers. The invoice date is 29 April, so I'm pushing it at this point. Might be that they won't get back to the company in time and then I'll be selling them on eBay, once my brother ships them back to me. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
My bridezilla moment, I promise you, will have to do with my shoes. I searched for those suckers for SO long and they're exactly what I wanted, so I'm not willing to chuck it all now and go searching for a new pair. It's just very very frustrating.
On the plus side of the spectrum, the man known as Matt touched down in St. John's last night for the first time in twenty-odd years. We mean to show him a good time while he's here.
I should really know by now that drinking and I don't get along any more.
I'm too old to be hungover, really, and it's been so long since I did any kind of real drinking that I no longer have even a smidgen of the same tolerance that I used to.
Last night we went downstairs for a Russian dinner: pelmeni, pickled herring (my new favourite), mayonnaise salad (can't remember the Russian word for it), smoked salmon . . . incredible. But there was also the vodka, which Nik brought back from Moscow a couple of weeks ago. And we did it Russian-style, with a pickle.
Oh man.
I was doing okay, having moved on to just water, when the conversation suddenly turned to something like putting songbirds in a meat grinder (I don't really remember, but I think it was kind of like that). My stomach turned and I was out of there in a flash. I made it home (thank god we live in the same house), made it upstairs, and had myself a good vomit, and felt pretty good about myself at that point. It was only eleven, but what can you do?
Then I passed right out.
I come to at around 3:45 to this repetitive moaning. Once I figure out where I am and why there's this noise coming from somewhere in the apartment, I get up. I feel okay, still drunk, but okay.
The moaning is coming from behind the bathroom door, which is, unfortunately, locked. And it's an old-fashioned lock, not one of those ones you can open with a skewer.
After much persuasion and insistence on my part, I get Andy to open the door. He's not sure how long he's been there, but he's pretty sure that he has never been that drunk in his life. He also hasn't thrown up yet, so I pour some water down his throat and he follows suit.
Arguing with a sick drunk person is never top on my list of fun things to do, but I have to admit that I was pretty entertained this morning. We were both cracking jokes and giggling - weird, I know.
I finally got him into bed at 5, and the sun was up and the birds were singing. I was certainly ready for a rest, but Andy started snoring so loudly that I had to go into the living room (which has no curtains and was bright and sunny) and sleep on the couch (which is really more of a loveseat with no padding).
I woke up again at 9, and I've been up ever since. I feel okay, but not okay enough to go out and enjoy this lovely sunny day. Andy, having emerged from his cocoon to pee once or twice, has otherwise not left his bed yet. Poor dear. He didn't overindulge too much when he was younger like the rest of us, so he's not used to being horribly hungover.
So let this be a lesson to you kids - don't try to keep up with Russians when you don't normally drink.
Why is it that our downstairs neighbours, in any incarnation, always get us smashed with hard liquor?
Ugh. I feel like crap this morning: sore throat, stuffed up nose, and aching body.
It's my own fault, really.
Friday night we went out with half my department to Erin's Pub so that one of my colleagues could do some field research on local music. After a few beers we decided it would be a good idea to head on to the Cotton Club, St. John's classiest strip club. The daughter of one of my other colleagues is a waitress there, so she got us in for free and then bought us a round. I was very impressed by the acrobatics on the pole of the dancers there - the pole went up to the ceiling, which was a good thirty feet above the ground, and they all liked to climb to the very top. Of course, I went to pee and found them all in the bathroom, and their legs were just covered in bruises from their efforts. But as Andy said, they could all definitely qualify for the army with that skillset.
I woke up bright and early at eleven yesterday morning and saw that it was sunny for once, so I headed outside almost immediately and spent the next four hours weeding and hauling rocks in the garden, so I could get my seedlings planted before they started to compete with each other in their pots and kill each other. That's the reason I'm so sore.
I have no idea why I also apparently have a cold, save perhaps that it was pouring rain on Friday and I spent too much of that time outside getting soaked.
Bleugh. Anyway, today I have to spend cleaning the house because we've got people coming tomorrow, and trying to get ahead on my reading list. A comforting note on that is that Friday, we were discussing our lists, and it turns out that the two colleagues whom I thought would be way ahead of me on their lists are in fact well behind. So the slacker is actually in the lead!