...or a wedding and a birthday, depending on how self-centered one chooses to be.
I entered my 29th year of life with a margarita in one hand and my too-handsome boyfriend on the other. We were celebrating the marriage of our dear friends (and new neighbors) Anne and Kevin. It was a proper New England affair, from the chowder to the chilly sea air and creaky floor boards of our colonial inn, and the festivities distracted me from the fact that I have now begun the last 12 months of the number 2 prefix in my age.
But back to the newlyweds...
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