exes

Yours truly, as you may have noticed, attended a wedding last weekend.  A beautiful and decadent and emotionally moving wedding at which a grand old time was had by all.  And at which the infamous ex-boyfriend and his lovely new bride were also in attendance.  (On a sidenote, boys, just for future reference: suspenders make you look old.  If you're not yet actually old and you're forced to wear a tux, go with the vest or cummerbund.  See my boys in the link above.  I'm just saying.*)

At any rate, the infamous ex and I managed to smile amicably enough at each other and it was a relief to see him without the immediate compulsion to either (or, I suppose, simultaneously) burst into tears or kick him in the 'nads.  I was slightly taken aback, however, at the one verbal exchange we had, which consisted entirely of him explaining how awkward and stressful were the three minutes of his and the aforementioned bride's first dance following their wedding ceremony.  Seriously, dearest ex?  Pick your audience.

And, I swear, that's all I have to say about that.  Also, I looked damn good** if I do say so myself, even if still in my usual funny-looking librarianish way.

*This, of course, coming from a woman who thinks wool shawls equal black-tie and regularly curls up under granny square afghans.

**Thanks, Shanna, for that weird but kinda great photo -- there aren't many of me that I like much!