what we're biting
bella: I went to the Midwest for the first time this week for one of my childhood best friend’s (Ella) brother’s (Jack) wedding (!). The whole thing was absolutely gorgeous— the type of gorgeous that they put in wedding magazines.
Love is a more than worthy cause for celebration and I really tried to soak in every moment while in the “Punta Cana of the Midwest” (coined by Ella herself). For me, the best parts of this weekend were the laughs, and so for that I will leave you with a story that had Ella, Rhys, Emily + I rolling:
After the ceremony on Friday night, many of us decided to hit a franchise of a popular bar called Professional Bull Riders, or to locals PBR for short. PBR is quintissentially American— wooden walls adorned with pro-police American flags and every single service branch’s logo. Emily, Ella’s cousin from England, has not been in America in 20 years, so she was taking many videos of the drunken Cardinals fans on the mechanical bull. Rhys (Ella’s other brother) turned to me at some point, holding up his tuxedo jacket and Prada purse and asked “do you think this is the kind of place that has a coat check?”
After PBR, Ella and I decided to DoorDash McDonalds. The beauty of the DoorDash user interface is it also allows you to tack on whatever other fast food that happens to be on the way to your destination— anything a drunk mind could dream up. What my drunken mind desired that night was a Crunchwrap supreme. Standing outside the hotel, I was in a floor length silk gown, eyes bloodshot and feet blistered, the hot and dry St. Louis wind blowing in my hair when the DoorDasher arrived with one tiny bag.
“This cannot possibly be everything,” I said
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