Stress is really a four-letter word. I know because it was late Friday afternoon in Madison and as everyone else was winding down, I was multi-tasking. I was writing out my to-do list while proctoring my tenth-grade American history class’s bi-weekly quiz. I had a million and one things to do. Pick up flowers for committee members. Make that a million and two. Well, serves me right for opening my big mouth and volunteering as chairwoman for the teachers association’s annual fundraising gala.

When the bell finally rang, I jumped from my chair. For the first time, I appreciated my students quickly tossing their papers on my desk and springing from the room. Brushing off Milton Pratt’s nit-picky question on Prohibition, I wasn’t trailing too far behind. In my dash to the school exit, Beth Benson, one of my colleagues, approached me.

"Trying out for the track team, Susanne?" Beth, also in pretty good shape, kept pace with my sprint to the car.

"Oh, Beth, I need an extra twelve hours! Too many loose ends before the ball this evening and no fairy godmother to save me!"

"Ah, the trials and tribulations of party planning."

"What was I thinking?" I moaned. "I’ve still got to pick up the checks for the hotel and the band, run to the florist, drop the kids off at their dad’s, stop by Bissell’s Bakery for the desserts and I cannot forget to pick my own dress up from the dry cleaners. Then, somehow, I’ve got to primp and arrive an hour early for a status check before the festivities start."

"Remember, we have door duty too," laughed Beth as we both got into our cars and drove from the school parking lot. Mindful of the school zone, I didn’t burn rubber, much as I wanted to.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

At home, I gathered Ellie and Scott, and after a speed-packing session, brought them to their dad’s for the weekend. As I kissed them good-bye, I thought despite Paul’s unreliability as a husband, I was glad he was dependable as a father. My next stop was the bank where the checks were already waiting for me (thank heavens for local banks who still know their customers), then the florist who’d made beautiful orchid corsages and still next to Bissell’s for the dozen or so boxes of pastries I had ordered. Finally, my car smelling like a giant cream puff, I arrived at the dry cleaners just minutes before Marco would lock the doors with my midnight blue, crushed velvet gown inside.

"Marco," I burst through the door like a madwoman, taking no notice of the customer he was already waiting on.  "I need my gown." Then I turned to the man Marco was waiting on, "Do you mind if I cut in – I’m in a huge hurry." The man, stepping back and giving me access to the counter, agreed. Marco, always focused on good service, played the diplomat and retrieved both orders off the whirling clothesline at the same time. I grabbed my clothes and paid without waiting for the change.

"Thanks Marco," I yelled, turning in a dash.

As I ran out the door, unlocked the trunk of my car and threw in my dry cleaning, I heard a voice calling, "Miss...Miss."

I turned and there was the other customer - probably wanting an apology.

"I don’t have time for this," I mumbled to myself.

"Oh, you might," he replied.

"Omigosh, did I say that out loud?"

"Yes, but I won’t hold it against you. You must be having a bad day because Marco doesn’t usually accommodate rude people," he said in an engaging tone. 

It was the most welcome chastisement I had ever received. He smiled and his deep brown eyes sparkled with a hint of gold. He was so cute. How had I not noticed inside? My mind had been preoccupied but that had been my excuse since the divorce. I really needed to pay better attention. In a split second, I happily determined that the hint of gold in his eyes was the only gold that was sparkling. I might have been busy and out of practice but I still knew how to prioritize.

"You don’t know the half of it," I said, smiling back.

"Let me make your life a little easier. I have this lovely dress but I think it might be a little tight in the arms. Wanna trade?"

All Stressed Up - 2 (continue)