...Oh, dear.
The Sequined Bralet Of Shame is coming with me to Vegas.
So is this dress, which is MUCH littler than it appears in the photo (the bralet is going under it to make it both less scandalous and much, much more so). Seriously, when else in my life am I going to get a chance to wear these two particular items?
{ Dangerously awesome sandals from Schutz ... }
{ ... Caprese pasta made with basil from my very own herb garden ... }
On Saturday, we took a field trip to Brooklyn to visit our friends Brian and Lauren, do a little puddle-jumping, and eat bacon-gravy biscuits at Char No. 4.
The rain ended up trapping us at brunch for longer than we intended, which was okay because the place has Bourbon Bloody Marys, and less okay because our son has developed a newfound fascination with "stretching his vocal cords", which is just the term that nice people who don't want to make me feel bad in places like restaurants and Costco use to describe the fact that my son is shrieking at the top of his lungs and then responding to my frantic efforts to stop him by shrieking some more.
I'm going to call this "a phase" and move on, and then hope he does, as well.
I don't sign up for e-mail lists.
I mean really: who does? You get so much junk mail anyway, there's no need to add more.
I do make one exception, though, and that is when I visit charming orchard-type places within an hour's drive of our home; of all the email lists that exist in the world, that's the one I definitely want to be on.
So when Harvest Moon Farm & Orchard - the North Salem, N.Y. farm that we visited for pumpkin-picking last fall - sent out an email blast saying "Come check out our Apple Blossom Hayride this weekend!" it got opened...
