…or perhaps Elly trundling toward the reception buffet in breathless anticipation. I’m really trying to avoid the Foob wedding. Mostly I’m winning.
(Gah! Why why why couldn’t the MRSA Mystery gone into the courtroom, with Max sweating profusely, his wife serving him divorce papers, his kid being more sullen and surly than usual, and Rex looking confused?)
Okay, maybe I’m losing, but sweet Jeebus on a pogo-stick, SIX limousines? Supplied by a used-car salesman? We can only hope that at least four of them look uncomfortably like hearses.
And, oh, all the “girl talk” and chatter that goes on in the bride’s ready room! How exciting! How girly! How treacly! These are the thing the bride will remember years from now as she studies the lank, greasy kitchen curtains, and her lank, greasy husband…
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