Melt-down ... In the Church Parking Lot.

Over this ....


This is sort of how it all unfolded ... in a nutshell. Be glad I'm giving you the nutshell version. Why do we say that, anyhow? What does a nutshell have to do with anything?

My fiance says to me last night, "Babe, I think I'll drive your car tomorrow when I go to see my Dad for Father's day. That way, I can clean it up for you." At this point, I begin to go into this long drawn out (unasked for) explanation, stating my case as to why I have not cleaned my car. Again, in a nutshell: "Well, I'm really sorry that my car is a disaster, but who has had time to clean a car? I have been so busy .... (blah blah blah blah blah)." Perhaps something along the lines of, "What a great idea! Thank you!" would have sufficed.

Fast forward to this morning. Running through the house like a crazy person. Wrapping Father's day presents (Yep, on Father's day). Running late. Doing my make-up in the car. Million things in my hand and the dang key remote thing-a-ma-jiggie is not working because ... Oops, it's out of batteries! And the remote that is working ... Well, it broke. Broke, like as in, I put the key in the ignition the other morning, cranked the key to start the car, and the actual key stayed in the ignition and the remote part broke off into my hand. Weird? I think so. At this point as I am manually unlocking the car, I remember that I am supposed to find the broken remote and transfer the battery to the remote that has the dead battery. Yes, in my spare time.

Finally get to church. Great message. See my fiance - And suddenly I remember ... He wants to switch cars! Dang it - I wanted to clean out that cyclone of a car before he had to drive it! I don't know why this sends me into such a tizzy, but I frantically run to my car and start throwing things in a bag (featured above). So, my man is wondering what in the WORLD I am doing. And for good reason. Remember? He is taking my car with him so that he can ... (Ahem) CLEAN IT OUT. The car being a mess ... Yeah, not such a huge shocker to him. Then all of a sudden, it just hits me. No, no no! Not here! Listen to me, you dramaqueen - Get a grip! Too late. The tears start pouring. Thankfully at this point the big sunglasses are covering up the smearing mascara.

Let me just e-x-p-l-a-i-n what I believe to be the root cause of this melt-down. Formerly-OCD-organized-checklist-girl clashes with exhausted-disorganized-wedding planning-people pleasing-1 blasted sale for the whole month real estate agent-hormonal girl. Yeah, not such a good combo.

So I start crying harder. Deep, ugly cry. In his shirt. I'm sure everyone in the church parking lot was thinking, "Awe, how cute. Look at them hugging." You know, like we were having a moment or something. Uh no. A moment of insanity, maybe.

Girl needed a good cry. Boy thought girl was an alien from outerspace.

Boy ran home to Haw River. Girl ran straight to Starbucks.

I'm better. At the moment. Or actually maybe I'm just caffeinated ...

Regardless, I need a serious dose of the Prince of Peace to go with my iced coffee.

Oh Jesus, Thank You for dealing with me today. For dealing with formerly OCD-organized-checklist-girl, now turned exhausted-disorganized-wedding planning-people pleasing-discouraged real estate agent-hormonal-girl. Otherwise known as, plain ol' me. I'm sorry for the melt-down. This morning's message was about second chances ... Can I please have a "Take 2" on the rest of today? I still have a Mexican dinner date ahead tonight with my Dad.

Oh, and Jesus ... Thank You for fiances who allow us to cry mascara tears on their church clothes, pregnant friends who see us crying on the way back into church and almost start crying with us, best friends who give us a serious reality check, and last but certainly not least ... Thank You Jesus for Starbucks.

much sisterly love y'all,
alien girl