“You’re a terrible lesbian,” W said to me yesterday.
I knew exactly what she was talking about.
“You mean the potluck. Because I have no faith in the luck of the potluck,” I replied.
We’re having a potluck at the wedding to cut down on costs. I’m worried there won’t be enough substantial food for our guests. I was going to make two trays of ziti and now I’m afraid that won’t be enough. I was thinking about testing out some crockpot recipes this weekend.
“Whatever you want, baby,” W says.
That’s what she tells me when she knows my head is about to explode.
W is cool and calm about the potluck.
“If we get five kinds of potato salad, we get five kinds of potato salad,” she says. This has become her potluck mantra
Maybe I should just pray to the potluck goddesses for a plentiful spread. Or perhaps sacrifice one of those mini crockpots or a tray of deviled eggs and call it a day.
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The wedding is only two weeks away, so I will be posting short wedding-related posts as we count down to “she do” and “she do, too.”