Happy Friday evening, friends! It is good to be back home from ma travels, and I have a double feature-ish situation thingie going on today for ya eyeballs. The second half of this post is a killer wedding, and you’re more than welcomed to skip to that if all you want is some visual candy. All good in the hood by me. I’m actually psyched for you to see it, and I’m dying to know what you think of it all. The first part of the post, however, is a personal story about what happened while I was traveling back home from Las Vegas (does that translate to ‘land of virgins’ or is it ‘many vajayjays?’ sorry… I don’t speak Spanish) to nyc this week. I was seated next to a father and his 11-year-old son. The boy’s father, divorced, shared unique lessons about marriage with his son; lessons I wasn’t expecting. Of course, it had to be blogged, and today is when it’s happening. I’m hoping to hear your thoughts and if you think I’m crazy for having the reaction I did/do.
(Quick note: when you get to the wedding part of this post, please make sure you’re in an enclosed space, like a small closet or parked car or possibly swaddled a bassinet, because this feature is going to blow your face off and I’m concerned about you losing track of your face.)