Helpful advice and note to Self:
when cutting atomic red chilis do not forget to wear gloves or you will for rest of evening feel a burning yearning earning deep inside them, as that bitch Diana Ross once sang.
So my Red Dinner happened and the food, clothes, desserts, beverages were all that. Happy to report that nothing spontaneously combusted, there are but a smattering of leftovers, nothing was broken and there were no punchouts. Just smiley heart-shaped high times with a crush of available favoured ones.
Turned many on to kir royales, what I lovingly refer to as the French version of a shot and a beer = a splash of cassis and a whole lot of champagne. Suddenly I realized that Brucey was addicting to them.
It is now with a procrastinating heart and heavy hands that signing off is imminent in order for me to turn all of my wavering attentions to readings, homework, deep grad student thought and posting. Exactly in that order.
Happy Eve of the Saint Day, the Saint who nobody really remembers, a possible amalgamation of several.

Eve Love.