When my ever-lovin’ Amy and I bid adieu to the Do on Christmas Eve, Bruce implored us to post, post, post about our merry Do experiences. Earlier in the evening, however, Bruce also implored us to eat, eat, eat, which I did, did, did. And so, upon my arrival home post-Do, I realized that typing was out of the question; far too much spaghetti and sauce had been consumed and far too much Tuna Pasta Salad had been eaten. Amy, being a more conscientious lurker, and a less voracious eater, posted yesterday — as I madly rushed about trying to wrap her gifts.
But now my post-Do notes are long over-Do and I must thank Bruce for his invitation, for his yummilicious Tuna Pasta Salad (which didn’t cause any allergic reaction, even though I’m allergic to the eggs in mayonnaise) and especially for his yummilicious pasta and sweet homemade sauce (he would divulge no recipe, but did say that that the sauce’s subtle kick came from, I believe, cayenne pepper).
The mood was merry and bright the entire evening, save for the moment when Bruce suddenly turned against the piece of fruitcake he had been enjoying and declared, "This is gross." He tried passing off said fruitcake to singer Laura Wolfe, who was sitting to right, but she was having none of it. Throughout the evening, dish was dished, glowing tongues were ogled, Mummys were unraveled, children laughed, texts were sent to Colorado, Scottish gentlemen looked unamused, and scientific formulas regarding the ratio of jean size to heartache were discussed at length. It was, simply, a festive and faboo evening. Thanks, Bruce!
