This post is about my lobster-slaying supervillain origin story.
|2006: It begins.|
No, it's not. It's about my honeymoon. More accurately, it's about my seventh anniversary, which was on Monday, and how I tried to mine pictures of my honeymoon for ideas about how to celebrate and kind of failed all over the place.
We spent a week or so driving to various B&Bs in New Hampshire, Maine, and Vermont because even when I was 26 I was 70. I know for a fact that we spent a great deal of our trip consuming food, because Dan was thoughtful enough to take several extremely flattering pictures of his new bride confirming as much.
I mean, honestly. What kind of a person--
|Okay, maybe we were meant to be together.|
But out of an entire weeks' worth of delicious foodstuffs, there were only two items that I could summon the ambition to make uglier versions of: broiled grapefruit and apple cider donuts.
That is barely a celebratory breakfast! Those donuts aren't even off-putting enough to join the Pantheon of Hideous Donuts! And for some reason I couldn't come up with aaaaaaaanything logical or theme-y or even appetizing for dinner, so (this is where things really break down) I made...copper pennies. Because the traditional seventh anniversary gift is copper? (Buries face in hands.)
|No offense carrot salad, but you are what failure looks like.|
My theory is that all my cells have now regenerated since my wedding day and the new ones are incapable of sophisticated theming. These are dark days, friends. Not, like, August-dark, but pretty sad all the same. I think I'll just go watch Exit Through the Gift Shop with Ivy again.