nominating myself for sainthood

Maybe sainthood is a stretch, but I have tried extra hard to be a good human being lately. For instance, just last night we went to eat at our favorite Afghani restaurant so we'd have a chance to talk to the owner who is doing the catering for the wedding. This is the guy I already met with once because the partner insisted he do the catering. The partner was supposed to be dealing with him, but then there we were, coming down to the last minute, and Partner begged off and asked me to deal with it. Ok, I dealt with it. But after finalizing the details last night, Partner did not like how things were going to work out. There was a significant price difference between the end price and the first price he ballparked. Did I say "I told you so?" Did I remind him that I'd said there was no way he could do a nice dinner for that price and that the caterer I originally discussed was actually quite reasonable? No I did not. I held my tongue like a monk. Then it came out that the owner preferred that we pick up the food, because he, afterall, is not in the catering business--he has a restaurant to run that evening. (A point I made earlier, but who's counting.) There is no easy way to make this pick-up happen. It's a lot of food, the timing would have to be just right, it was going to make things way too complicated. At one point in the discussion Partner said maybe Number 1 son could pick up the food. Number 1 son, who can't walk across the living room carrying a plate without spilling part of it, is going to pick up and transport the entire wedding meal for sixty people? "No, I don't think that's going to work," I said, through smiling teeth.

Partner then decided that this food might actually not work as well in a warm, outdoor setting as it does when sitting in an air-conditioned restaurant. Did I mention that I had brought up this concern earlier?--no again, friends. I was the picture of concern and cooperation, though this patient suffering nearly killed me. Partner mentioned that maybe what we really wanted was lighter, more summery fair. At this point, did I mention that when I'd talked to my mom's very good and capable friend Harold, whom Partner rejected, that that's just the kind of food he was proposing? Again, no I did not. When he said, "Well, maybe we should just call Harold back," did I briefly consider grabbing him by his skinny little neck and shaking him to unconsciousness? Yes I did. So maybe I'm no saint. But the fact remains that I did not shake him to unconsciousness, I only thought about it, and I've made a full confession to you right here.

I put in an emergency call to mom. She put in an emergency call to Harold, who fortunately had not booked another catering gig for that day yet and can do it. So we are on to Plan B, which was Plan A until Partner had his little hissy fit and thought mom and I were trying to shove Harold down his throat and who the hell was this Harold guy anyway? (A caterer. Harold would be a caterer. Someone who prepares food for things like weddings.) So now I have to find time to meet with new caterer and plan a light summery menu to the partner's satisfaction. Scratch the Afghani. Yes, we like to take it down to the wire, folks. And I stayed calm and smiled and said nary a contrary word to my darling partner throughout. This deserves recognition in this forum. I am recognizing myself. I felt murderous intent but held back.
(photo: my intended victim, completely unaware of his close call)