The party went well. Better than I expected.

The day before the party, I had my hair colored. I’d made the appointment on my way home from Texas and had planned on really putting blue streaks in it but decided to go with purple instead. I had my hair french braided right after getting it done so you couldn’t really see the color. Sweety noticed it as we were walking across a parking lot later that day. “Holy shit, it’s like I’m walking with Princess Narnia or something. That shit’s purple!”

Sweety wore his mask. When we walked up he didn’t have it on but it wasn’t hard to talk him into putting it on when he saw he would be the only person without one. And wouldn’t that be odd? Heh. I told him he could take it off after his first drink. He did. He also told me if I showed you the photo of him with the mask on that I might not have internet for much longer. So here! Sweety with his mask on his forehead!

I introduced everyone to tequila with a pickle chaser. Most of the people were skeptical that it would be good and had to be peer pressured into having the pickle. After, everyone agreed that it was the best way to drink tequila. The whole bottle was emptied and all the pickles were eaten. Great success!

Sweety found someone to talk to and I was the one who told him that it was time to go around midnight. Sweety is very animated while talking sometimes.

Here I am with the girl from work who invited me.

All in all, it was a nice evening but I will never do that again. I felt extremely uncomfortable being around a bunch of people that A) I didn’t know and B) Who were so much younger than us. I’m glad we went though because I got those kickass silver shoes out of it.

That dress?

Not the dress from the last post. (But I did wear the silver shoes. My feet hurt for two days afterwards. They looked great though!)

Have you ever bought something and said to yourself, “That’s going to fit in two weeks!”? Yeah. No. Bad.

I thought that I could lose 10 pounds and buy some sort of industrial strength titsling to bind my boobs in and I’d be able to tie that dress in the back and I’d be nice and perky above the ribbon. It just wouldn’t happen. I took the dress with me when I went to buy undergarments on Saturday (The day before the party. The best time to realize you are a walking wardrobe malfunction!). Sweety, bless his heart. I can always count on Sweety to tell me the truth. He confirmed that yes, my tits did look weird and then said he’d help me find a new dress.

I will give him credit for going into the dressing rooms with me to help zip the dresses up and not freaking out on me when I freaked out on him in the dressing room. I’m sure there’s nothing sexier than watching your wife ugly cry in her underwear because she can’t shimmy into any of the half dozen dresses that are there. (at that point, I told Sweety that I was getting ready to meltdown and we needed to go eat and then resume shopping)

When I told him my original plan of buying some sort of super-duper bra he said, “What the hell? Did you think you were going to wear your tits at earmuffs?”

In: husband, randomness | | #