Too bad Dante didn't stick around for the invention of, you know, roads and stuff. The Holland Tunnel at 6 p.m. on Sunday would have been its own separate level of hell, I swear. Evil dirty traffic aside, my weekend was hectic and fun. I watched one of my best friends get married -- technically, get "blessed," because he and his British wife really got married in February for greencard purposes -- and actually quite enjoyed it. See, I'm not necessarily a bitter old hag at weddings; however, I am also definitely not what one would consider a Wedding Person. I won't go into the (not interesting) reasons presently, but let's say this one was an exception. I was quite the inverse of a bitter old hag. Ross just looked so, so, so good and so happy and so everything -- I felt rather like jumping up and down and clapping my hands in glee.

Did you note the sixty zillion British-isms in that last paragraph? We have the Harry Potter reader guy to thank for that. Ten CDs of his melliflous accent and I'm "quite"-ing with the best of them. On the phone tonight with H., I couldn't stop saying "expecto patronus!" in his voice, and I've been doing it in my head since we hung up. Expecto patronus! Expecto patronus! Quite!