Faturday

Do you know what today is?  Do you KNOW what today is?!?!  That's right.  It is the 18th.  Satur-flippin'-day the 18th.

You probably think I'm panicking about Christmas.  And I am.  But I also have a deeper, more panicky panic (that is clearly tampering with my vocabulary) stewing.  A bridesmaid dress awaiting my bloated-with -800 pounds-of-Christmas-cookies body.  That I have to squeeze into in four weeks. 674 hours.

Nobody will even be looking at me, I know... the bride will be breathtaking and stealing the show as it should be.  It's just that as you know from Wednesday's post, I'm already a zitty mess.  And here's the kicker.  I'm the oldest bridesmaid!  By like five years.  So it doesn't seem fair that I would have to play the role of oldest and plumpest (and zittiest).  Hence the panic.

The thing is I don't care enough to actually stop eating the chocolate covered pretzels, the fudge, the sugar cookies, or the peanut brittle.  So sign me up for Fattest and Oldest.  And pass the figgy pudding.

Ok, George Costanza.  But did you have to stand up in a wedding?  Didn't think so.