If anyone at the Olema Inn is wondering who spilled red wine all over the place, wonder no further. Last night was my favorite architect's wedding and I had a fabulous time, right up until I decided to paint everything burgundy. As I lamented to Zoe yesterday morning, I was worried I wouldn't know a ton of people and thus, be relegated to discussion with middle aged women about what to do with my life.
This happens a lot.
But Jason and Sam have very hip friends and I ended up falling madly in love with John and Adam, the latter of whom is the only witness to my crime of Pinot. He responded by making fun of me and refilling my glass. (Hence my falling in love.)
I also ended up sitting at Table 5, Jason and Sam's table, which made me feel very fabulous and important and meant I happened to be seated with 2 gorgeous women, both sharing my freakish height to the inch.
Sweet, sweet solidarity.
Finally, and pardon my reflective sentimentality, there were a myriad of toasts, led my the best man, which were hilarious and touching and sweet and lovely. But I spent these speeches half listening and half looking at my friend sitting across from me, glowing and gorgeous, holding hands with this very hot bride and having a fabulous time. I won't get into the 483 reasons I love Jason, but last night, it became 484...