All the crazies, none of the calories
At no time will I admit to transforming, Hulk-like, into a ravening alcoholic the minute I live alone. However, I will admit that there’s a bottle of Hoegaarden in my Irish stew.
And I just put a glassful of Smirnoff into my marinara sauce.
But I don’t think it proves anything.
Apparently during Edwardian times (1900-1910-ish), thin was definitely not in – in fact, if you were skinny you were seen as pitiable and sickly, frail and mildly repellent. The cure? Why, a revitalizing vacation in the countryside! You’d go to the seaside, right, and stay in a fancy hotel where you’d basically eat and swim (but not too vigorously) and put on lots of lovely pounds, and come back and everybody would admire and pet you and comment on how healthy you looked. Gawd, I was born out of time.
Sidenote: where are all the other SodaCrazies? Mark, what’s going on here? I mean, the silliness will continue until morale improves.
Congratulations to our (one-time) Sodacrazy, Kim, and her new husband Kerry! May you always be as oozing with love and patience and humour as you were on your wedding weekend, and may you rarely ooze with anything unpleasant.
Annoyingly, unlike my last stint as a bridesmaid, I didn’t get to take any photographs. However, as the weekend wore on, a number of people borrowed my camera, which resulted in several shots of Kim’s veil being pinned on, a photo of Jocelyn triple-fisting and one of Dave double-sipping, some very overflashed closeups of Solange and Jocelyn, and one group shot where my auto-focus apparently did not. Sigh.
Wedding attendees: if there are actual photos flying around the interweb at any point, can someone pass them my way? I’d be uber-grateful and send you lots of good bridesmaid vibes.
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