Monday, April 18, 2011

In Which I am Subjected to my Flatmate's New Bridal Magazine

Skip is not engaged. She used to be, to a whiny Southerner, who demonstrated the wealth of his people by doing dumb shit like signing her up for about 58 years of bride-mag subscriptions. The groom-to-be is gone, but the monthly overdose of lace remains. She loves these things.

"Look!" She'll squeal: "this dress looks like the skirt was made of noodles!" She'll flip pages, rapid-fire: "Noodles, noodles, noodles!!!"

I hate bridal-mag day.

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