Murphy's Law

Murphy and I are not on speaking terms right now.

It seems he has made my wedding his pet project.  And UPS has become his latest tool in foiling all activity into idle uselessness.

First it was the venue.  Took three tries to find a place.
Then is was figuring out the date.  One month available, two receptions desired. The in-laws are still debating which day would be more auspicious.
Then the Chinese invitations.  Rejected twice for as yet incomprehensibly cryptic Chinese reasons.
Then the shoes.  Let's not relive that three month ordeal.

And now Brown has joined forces with Murphy to assure that nothing (save the photographer, bless her!) will be easy.  This is how I spent my free energy last week:

Tuesday: Plan an invitation stuffing party with friends for Saturday. 

Thursday:  They tell me that the address is wrong.  I call, fix the address.  101 East Chelten.  Yes, E N, not O N.  They promise to deliver Friday. 

Friday: No delivery.  I check online, it's been delivered and signed for by what I deduce is 101 WEST Chelten.  Try calling them.  Too late, they're closed. 

Saturday AM: Cancel invitation party.  Call 101 West.  Package was returned to UPS guy on Friday.  He had tried to deliver it there 3 times, she says.  No, she assures me, the address was correctly written.  (Why, I ask myself, did she not tell him to drive up two blocks to the correct 191?)  Then call UPS and find out that not only has he delivered it three times to the wrong address, but it's now at the holding center which is Closed. All. Weekend. 

Saturday PM: Eat ice cream, dark chocolate and paint my nails in miserable frustration with half of my bridesmaids.   

Monday:  Insanity is delivering the same package to the same address over and over and expecting a different result.  In other words, UPS called at 7:30am to ask "What is your address again?  And what's the name of your business?" I could only come up with: "Don't you dare put that box back on that truck.  I'm coming down and get it myself." 

As my truest friend has reminded me: While it is overwhelmingly frustrating that everything requires at least one redo, God has a reason for allowing it.  I, however, am only at about Job 3 in this conversation with God.  So, for now, I leave you with:  It could be worse.  I could have a bunch of idiots unnerving me on my wedding day about data files.