Red makes you look fat. Who knew? Here I was thinking it was just the snazzy, sharp color to wear for a night out, and all along it's just a recipe for making yourself into a marshmallow. And as anyone who has ever appreciated a sexual food metaphor knows, marshmallows may be delicious, but they're not worth the mess.
I guess pinstripes are supposed to be the answer, but you know what? Fuck that. I look good in red, I don't care what your camera says. I look marshmallowy and delicious, and maybe, just maybe, worth the mess.
And no, your breath is not bad because of what you did in bed, it just gets that way when you stay awake too long after drinking. Let that be a lesson to you. Seriously, buy some mints or something. Or else just go to sleep; no one wants to deal with this.
I went to California between Christmas and New Years for my cousin Jake's wedding. I was in it; I had to. My flights were overbooked and then canceled and then retarded for one thing after another (naturally), and by the time I got there, I had missed the rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner. I was just in time to drink scotch and hear that I would be the first groomsman in line the next day. And that all struck me as fine at the time - because I was wearing red and I thought I looked good, and also because scotch is delicious.
The next morning the rain had cleared (I didn't tell you it was raining? Yeah, I didn't tell you it was my birthday either, but it was. Deal with it.) and the sun was out. It was that stupid kind of great California weather that makes you hate yourself for some reason, probably because you just saw the pictures of yourself wearing red the night before. Mimosas and Crabcakes Benedict happened for brunch (fucking California) and then there was the wedding.
I danced in line behind a guy in an electric wheelchair, and some other stuff happened, and then the next day, I went home. And on the flight, I snored so loud that I woke myself up, and no one even elbowed me.