Have you ever bought $60

Have you ever bought $60 worth of maroon M&Ms? I have! And, boy, let me tell you about the fun of carrying that many M&Ms; at that quantity they may as well be a couple of lead weights slowly pulling your arms out of their sockets. The salesman was even a little flabbergasted at the amount (which, to be fair, doesn’t seem like a RIDICULOUS quantity of M&Ms for a bulk-candy-selling-store to sell). It turns out I could have ordered these online, but I just didn’t think of it in time. So I was stuck going to Toys R Us in the middle of Times Square at lunch hour, only to realize I had to drag them back to the office, then back to Macy’s in Herald’s Square after work, where I had to go to pick up a necklace I reserved for their Super Crazy Everything’s Almost Free Sale. I’m thinking of setting up my own NY wedding fitness program that involves, oh, combining all your heavy-object-getting errands and conducting them on foot. Mine will be sweat-inducing AND productive.

The M&Ms were initially to be put in little bowls on the cocktail tables, along with little bowls of snack mix. However, when we told the caterer this, she reacted as though we told her we thought we’d just pop up on the tables and pee a little bit for each guest. But she regained composure and suggested we put them out with dessert instead of at the beginning of the evening when all the savory food would be served. Hey man: whatever. As long as my ten pounds of candy gets served, I think we’re in business.

J is researching fun things to do on the honeymoon. I put him on a mud bath mission and he called me up to make sure I really wanted to go through with it. For me, mud bath = luxurious, relaxing, fun. For J, it’s more like: mud bath = repugnant, dirty, germy. I was looking at the website thinking, that looks sooo nice, while J’s saying, “Look at that guy. He’s totally farting.”

This aversion of his stems from his general queasiness about swimming pools, hot tubs, baths, and other communal places where one is submerged. In fact, I think he was pretty much on board for the mud baths until he got to Step 5, as outlined on the website, where you get a private hot Jacuzzi. I do love me a Jacuzzi, but J is right:

What’s up with them picking a model with all that nasty chest hair and smarmy mustache? And what’s with the rubber duck?

All you shoe-concerned people will be glad to know that I’ve been dutifully tromping around the apartment in the high heels, breaking those bitches in. I have also purchased a cute pair of flip flops that I will bring in case my feet just give out.

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