The next time I choose style over comfort, shoot me. In the leg, of course, I don’t want you to kill me. Just render me unable to even chose to wear high heels. Either that, or make me start practicing, standing in them for hours, weeks ahead of time.

Well that was one of your better weddings. The bride, my cousin, looked beautiful, the flower girl was appropriately precious, the groom had funny in his vows, the food was good, we all held our breaths during the F.O.T.B.’s toast and, lo and behold, he did not say anything embarrassing! Well done, our side of the family! I got to see some family I don’t get to see very often, which was fun. And everyone kept telling me nice I looked. Which is both pleasant and embarrassing. I wish I had a really great faux pas to share, but the evening was a success. Sad, isn’t it? I did hear that the F.O.T.B, my uncle, almost tripped when walking down the aisle. But I didn’t see it, and almost only counts in horseshoes.

There is, however, a picture somewhere of me with bubble gum all over my face. A nice man had bubble gum in his pocket for all the kids. I knocked one of those kids down and snatched the gum, lickety split. I was sitting with the bride, blowing bubbles, I had a good one going and the photographer, who is another uncle of mine, caught the tail end of it. I tried to keep that bubble up as long as possible, but it popped, and the picture is of me with gum all over my face. There were disposable, pink, cameras on all the tables, and I took it upon myself to take pictures with ours. No serious smiles, only goofy faces. And two pictures of my shoes. A picture of the ladies’ room door, a picture of my aunt’s feet peeking out from underneath the stall, and another one of the sign over the toilet instructing you to hold the handle down a little longer than normal. I bet my uncle didn’t take any pictures of the ladies room. It’s ok, tho… I got it covered.

Ok… back to cleaning the kitchen. Meh.