Today I Was Not Nice

I have found through my extensive research that niceties are nice, and niceness is nice, and pretty is as pretty does, and that a whole bunch of nice gets me exactly nowhere sometimes.

I had the most awesome tackle planned for today. Let me tell you. I was even going to venture out into pictures of the before and after, because I have become emboldened by the pictures of the office of my new crap-stashing soul sister Barb (you are such an inspiring writer, Barb, and I hope you're not creeped out by me saying, I saw your boxes and recognized them).

I am over the humiliation (time heals all wounds) of a couple weeks' ago, when an inadvertently placed "daffodil vase" in a "before" picture of my kitchen made blog headlines on blogs other than my own. It only took a few margaritas to feel better, really. (Now I feel the need to reiterate that I only drink Diet Coke, but I know this will bring down the hellish hilarity of some farmchicky friends, so I'm restraining myself.) I was moving on to a new tackle. Kitchen, done. Mortification, noted and worth it. Laundry room, N-E-X-T.

Anywhat, as usual, my plans for my tackle are sidetracked by life in general. How do you think my laundry room came to look like this?

Please don't dissect that photo and find any liquor bottles. If they're hiding in there, I just don't want to know. Life in general is just nuts. That laundry room is certifiable. And it looks like this within minutes of finishing digging it out. I am in true confession mode now, because I want you to believe me when I say:

Today I Was Not Nice.

Right before I got down to tackling that horrific disorganization pit we like to call our laundry room and alternately Mt. Washmore (I was gonna make a system! I was gonna make a difference! I was gonna make my husband so happy!), the home office line rang. It rung. It was ringing. I am so discombobulated by what ensued that my grammar has left me.

On the line was the EGE, and in his hand was a certified letter. I don't think they send certified letters for your birthday. Certified in letters, as in the case of insanity, is not good. Not good at all. The EGE calmly (he is the King of Calm) read such letter to me. It had terrible ramifications. It asserted points that if proven would have us likely out of business before June 2. This was bad, and let me say again, not good.

Oh, how I wish I could dish! A woman who must have VERY BAD life problems had messed with us in a VERY BAD way which involved LYING and COVERING HER DERRIERE and then some more LYING and then it all resulted in the letter that sidetracked my important but not urgent laundry room excavation. I hope y'all can forgive me (I know you're the forgiving sort).

Now of course the EGE had important and urgent things he had to be doing which are not related to this little letter bomb. And of course the letter had to be dealt with today. I quickly (remember my wardrobe tackle? and how well that turned out?) threw on a skirt and knit blouse. I had the presence of mind to wear pumps instead of maryjanes. It is important when kicking business butt to look the part, methinks.

Then I loaded Grace and Sarah into the Suburban with snacks in a bag (sometimes I can be organized) and went to town, figuratively and literally. With a baby on one hip, my bra securely inside my blouse, and Grace on an extra computer playing puzzles, I worked the phones like there was no tomorrow. I spoke calmly and politely BUT NOT NICELY with the devil herself. I stood my ground and it was the high ground. Said phone conversation partner weaseled and smoke screened and in general showed her lovely character. I then waited on hold while she doubtless poisoned the pot with her boss.

The boss came on the phone. He was prepared for me to be a shrew. But I had something better than shrewishness, and it was, pardon me, balls. I channeled my dad, who is Mr. Business. I had all my documentation in front of me and I. did. not. back. down. Very politely (but without an ounce of nice) I let him know that the letter writer and hatchet thrower was full of [other-than-the-scent-of-new-mown-grass] and that her actions had serious consequences that we would be happy to pursue in court if he did not rescind the action notified to us in the letter of the year. Right now.

I even used my super-low mommy voice. You know the one.

You also know I was sweating big time. You know it was a good thing we were on the phone and not across a conference table because I 'bout wet my pants with the stress of being simply assertive. I was shaking so much when I hung up that I think it qualified as a workout. But I won! I didn't use honey, but I wasn't out to catch flies. I was swimming with the sharks, and I'm no Gidget (shaddup).

I think I'll have that Diet Coke now. I have conquered business. The laundry room will have to wait another day. That'll be nice. (See what I did there? With the nice?)