God’s Caterer

The gala gown vote was nearly unanimous! Thanks for helping me to decide.

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{Left: Senior Homecoming 1998 // Right: Safehouse Outreach Urban Gala 2013}
Girls, hang on to those gowns. You never {and I mean never} know when one might come in handy.

My car is in the shop, so I took Clark’s car {during the Friday Rush Hour Exodus} downtown for the event at the Georgia Aquarium. He drives a ’98 Honda Prelude. Not only did I feel like a teenager driving it, but I was sporting a gown that I wore when I was a teenager… On top of which, he was playing with the Smalltown Poets— a band I used to listen to in college… On top of which, the fundraising event was for an urban ministry that I used to serve as an intern in my early twenties. It was a bit Twilight Zone-ish. I’m not going to lie. And yet, I don’t know what I was more excited about– the food or my hair. We’ll start with the hair.

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With the help of this hair tutorial, I was able to make sense of my unwashed mane. Formal hair works better anyway when it hasn’t seen the shampoo bottle in a couple of days, right? I like that I can get away with this style for a dressy event, and yet it still looks so laid back {even if I am not}. I’m glad I “dressed it down” a bit. There were literally people there in blue jeans and sneakers. And I was married to one of them! But he’s with the band, so gala attire doesn’t technically apply to him.

photo-47I am convinced that Wolfgang Puck is God’s caterer. Everyone around our table ate in complete silence. The meal was so delectable, none of us wanted to spoil the moment with words. It was a symphony of chews and moans in between suicide drills back and forth to the buffet. As refined as we were supposed to be all dressed in our party best, we were the Tributes from District 1 when it came to the last spoon of pot roast. We managed to escape with our limbs still in tact which is more than I can say for our waistlines.

Thanks again for all the votes and comments. Picking out gowns with you is way more fun than doing it on my own. But, I am afraid when it comes to Wolfgang Puck’s, it’s every man for himself.

May the odds be ever in your favor. Happy Monday!

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