Happy Valentine’s Day!
Ours was sort of romantic for about fifteen minutes! A little Bob Marley, some cheese and bread, spread with with artisanal concord grape jelly sent to us by a friend—topped off by truffles proudly offered by one of my kindergartners. Steve took the unprecedented step of repositioning an air mattress so he’d have room to pull up the one sliver of furniture that fits in our little room. With some serious effort, he created a fairly proper spread.
Too bad we were absolutely stuffed with a super-sized serving of rigamarole.
It sounds so appetizing. Pasta? Pastry? If a rigamarole was something to eat, I’d be in a blissed-out food coma right now.
From 4:00 to 8:00, and then 8:15 to 9:30, we did paperwork. Or should I say—we did paperwork for the purpose of figuring out other paperwork. We scanned forms to email people so we could find out how to fill out forms; called people to email forms for giving to other people so that other paperwork could be completed and scanned and faxed; we texted people to arrange meetings to figure out paperwork to be filled out by other people unwilling to help us figure it out.
If rigamarole were edible, it would be deadly to ingest the number of supersize servings our friends and I have worked our way through in order to get back ANY of what we paid into insurance; to even begin to get our insurance checks released to us by our mortgage banks, piece by piece; to get the questions answered we don’t even know we should be asking….to get a loan with almost perfect credit….to get an accredited contractor accredited here….to get a human being at consumer affairs to answer a simple question of fact….to get service companies we’ve used for eleven years to show up or call us back….to get 14 pages of information ready to fax to FEMA (again) so we don’t have to pay mortgage AND rent…
Next Valentine’s Day Steve and I will lounge on our new couch cushions, raised off the floor in our new den complete with full-sized furniture and tantalizingly feed each other rigatoni and profiteroles. But we’ll pass on the rigamarole, thanks.