Update: We are T-minus 60 and the good news is that I drew my eyebrows on before the alcohol took hold.

The bad news is that the mood in the house can only be described as “everybody is crying for all different reasons”.

One because he doesn’t want to bathe and I am pouring soapy water over his head.

One because I forbade him from using hair gel just-this-once.

One because I dared to dictate his wardrobe for this event and he is a grown-ass-man, dammit.

Me, because nobody quite gets the point:

That I am headed to a place where I have ZERO control. I need them to humor me just a little.

Is that too much to ask?