You are familiar with Murphy’s law. And perhaps even my friend Adam’s law. (“Some people say, ‘You make your own luck.’ Most of those people are pretentious assbags.”) This weekend I finally figured out my very own.
Kelli’s law goes a bit something like this: over-think the task at hand, create lists and schedules and completely stress yourself out when these don’t fall into place as planned, reject all compliments given concerning the final project because in your mind it wasn’t 100%, and call the entire thing a failure. Regardless, the majority of those around you have no clue you are so upset — otherwise, you’d be adding that guilt to your plate too. Instead, be the whiny martyr and smile through your aggravation only to blog about it later.
My parents are in town. I’ve been excited about their visit for weeks and invited some of our closest family friends over for dinner Friday night. Of course, my parents wanted to go out and I wouldn’t hear of it. So I took Friday off from work and spent the morning shopping, chopping, cooking, cleaning and planning. These are not chores in my mind; I am my happiest in the domestic habitat.
We sat on the patio under the stars and ate by candlelight. Decanters of wine flowed and the conversation was plentiful. And while I wish I could relax a bit and admit I pulled this off, I can’t. I wish the food had been warmer, the linens on the table had matched and a few other things had gone the way I’d planned. I fully recognize I’m letting my perfectionist tendencies ruin what was otherwise considered a great night, but alas, that is why this is Kelli’s law.
Happy customers: my papi, Martha, my mami, Martha Jr., and Alberto.
Every drive yourself crazy with your own kooky behavior? I’d love to hear them. Leave a comment and I’ll pick one for a Thanksgiving apron later this week.