a little touch of the "crazy"

i returned from Vermont last night, a little tired, a little bit fatter,* but happy to see a big package from bloomingdales. it seemed that, in my absence, my new glasses had arrived.
i waited to open them until T got home from work, so he could have his daily a glass of scotch in one of them.

upon his arrival, i happily encouraged him to open the giant cardboard box. he did. and in it was another large box, wrapped like so:

indeed, it appeared to be a wedding gift. upon further inspection, the "gift receipt" noted that it included "BLM COMP REGISTRY WRAP."** in many situations this would not be a particularly interesting or strange turn of events. however, Thurston and i have not registered. this is primarily due to the fact that we are not engaged. therein lies the rub. but wait-- there's more! there was a card attached. ah, yes, a card! that ought to clarify everything.

except it clarified nothing. of course, to T it all became clear. this was my Anne Heche/Mariah Carey/Courtney Love moment. for a little while, he was convinced that, while he was away in Montreal, i'd gone and registered us for our housewares. (EvilA's shouts encouraging this theory were of no help. NO HELP!)

i called Mrs. A to verify my story a/k/a the truth, which is that i exchanged one set of glasses for another, they were out of stock, so they offered to ship it to me. (for free, even, as a perk of having a bloomingdales charge). alas, she was at the gym and unable to corroborate. however, Mr. A was home and in rare form, screaming about my multiple personality disorder and how Thurston should run and flee from the crazy. as mentioned before, this was not helpful.

anyway, after drinking some scotch from one of the new "registry glasses," and a callback from Mrs. A confirming my version of the events, T was laughing and apparently had not thought that i really sent them to us as a registry gift. which was cold comfort after my time of stress trying to prove it really was bloomingdales' attempt to gaslight me (and not my own craziness) that was responsible for this whole incident. besides, like i would ever sign a card to myself "Sincerely." ha, it's all about the "Love," around here.

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* if you ever happen to be in Manchester, VT, do not miss the Little Rooster Café, as their sandwiches are fantastic. the "Black Russian Rooster," which is grilled pastrami on rye with cole slaw, swiss and russian, is outrageously delicious. the pink lemonade is awesome as well. i want to live in this restaurant and, thus, i went there for two lunches during my vacation. Day One: the aforementioned Black Russian Rooster and Day Two: the Reuben. Day Three: would have been the Ethan Allen (grilled ham, cheddar and granny smith apples), which was to be the final element in the Sandwich Trifecta, however, i was forced to capitulate to the whims of others and had lunch elsewhere. curses!

** thanks to my Holmesian acuity, i have translated this as "Bloomingdales Complimentary Registry Wrap."