I made a half-hearted attempt at working on my final exam today. So far I've come up with a whole lot of really nasty questions. I need to come up with a few more that they will actually be able to answer, otherwise the whole grading process will be depressing. The excuses have started to roll in. One request for a paper extension because of a computer crash. A "family emergency" (this one is highly suspicious), a deceased grandfather (this one is far more plausible). Let the games begin! Bring me your ailing mothers, your accident-prone uncles, your suicidal siblings! There�s room for everybody!

In the Harriet-is-an-idiot department, I discovered when I went to check on the reception location for the wedding we are to attend tomorrow, that the wedding is not, in fact, at five p.m. but at one. A strange line break and the tradition of writing out the year in words on wedding invitations led me to misread it, and so we scrambled to reschedule babysitting with less than 24 hours notice (successfully, fortunately). I also suspect that I need to wear a different dress, as the one I had planned on was a little too evening-y. This may be a problem. But I did find the perfect shoes (alas, no online pics to be found) this afternoon, so if worse comes to worse, I will stare at my feet. Tonight�s agenda will therefore have to include a pedicure.

There is not much else of interest to relate. Adorable boy. Ho hum. Beautiful flowers. Yawn. Lovely day. Oh, look at the time. Tomorrow I should have more to relate from what is sure to be an interesting wedding. But for now, I need to concentrate my creative energies on making a crucial decision: I�m not Really a Waitress or Argenteeny Pinkini?

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