I think this Topamax has caused some sort of psychic schism.
But more on that in a minute. Today was Homecoming in our church, complete with a covered dish dinner and Hubby's new boss delivering the sermon. Being the good and dutiful pastor's wife and wanting to make a good first impression on Hubby's new boss, I set out to be the Good Pastor's Wife. I agreed to sing special music, I put on a SKIRT complete with PANTY HOSE. I wore MAKEUP and even tried very hard to tame my wild mane by spending 20 minutes blow drying it down. I had all the best intentions.
Yesterday, when planning for today, I had looked through my cookbook and come up with a recipe for apple cake to make and bring as my contribution for the covered dish meal. Only I didn't have butter or eggs. Hubby and E were out yard sale-ing so I called him to ask him to pick up those things. Only, as luck would have it, the two of them were at a church yard sale that just also happened to have a bake sale going on. Lo and Behold, there was APPLE CAKE! Hubby asked me if I just wanted him to pick up some apple cake there and then I wouldn't even have to worry about making it and I could still bring something homemade. I, of course, thought that was a wonderful idea.
Fast forward to this morning. Hubby had gotten to church first and dropped the still-wrapped cake off on the food table. When I got there with my skirted, pantyhosed, made up and tamed maned self, two of the old biddies where clucking over the "bought" apple cake going "What does she think this is, a bake sale?" in a very nasty tone. I just deflated right there. I politely interrupted them and informed them that this is E's birthday weekend and I had a lot on my plate and Hubby just happened to be at a bake sale but I didn't want to deceive anybody so we brought it still wrapped. I would love to be retired so that I could cook something from scratch at anytime, but I'm actually quite busy. I was so upset. That's what I get for trying to be something I'm not.
Okay, now for the freaky thing. Today is All Saints Day, where you remember the people who have died, particularly the church members who died this year. I was standing in the pew all by myself (as I always do since Hubby kind of leads the service) and I was wearing my puffy sleeved choir robe. We were coming to the end of the service and singing the last hymn. I was being silly and juvenile and laughing to myself because the words of the hymn were written by someone whose name was "Lesbia." That name and the contrived words just cracked me up and I was just giggling away when I felt someone reach around and in a very friendly way grab my arm. The sleeve of my choir robe crinkled in and I turned my head to the person I thought was standing there to give them an appropriate "Hey" (Southern for: How are you, it's good to see you again). Only....there was NO ONE THERE!
I was so taken back that I turned around, sure that a prankster had snuck up and hugged me and then ducked under the pews, but one of my friends was staring at me from across the sanctuary and swore she didn't see anyone. But several people saw my sleeve move. When I went back to the choir room to take off my robe, several of the other choir members mentioned seeing me turn around in surprise. It was so very strange. Whoever it was knew me and liked me, of that I am sure, but I am not sure I want to experience it again for a long time to come.
So that was my day. Biddies berating me and ghosts hugging my neck. All in a day's work.