Sunday: stripping of leaves from many flower stems; applying of clear tape to the tops of vases according to instructions; telling of stories to insistent four-year olds (while incompetently messing with tape and vases); swearing at Brooklyn traffic while maneuvering a car jammed with delicately arranged flowers and one very talented friend busy still assembling corsages; hauling delicately arranged flowers into Prospect Park, as if there weren't plenty there to begin with; washing up hurriedly in a bathroom not really meant for serious washing up; praying (or reasonably facsimile thereof) that the sunshine would hold for a few more minutes; beaming at Amy and Mark and wishing I understood Hebrew; saying one half of one seventh of the Seven Blessings; feeling indescribably good about the coolness of aforementioned couple; appreciating something called a Tequila Limeade; appreciating even more the super-soul dancefloor workout provided by Mr. Finewine; staggering home, actually no kidding staggering.

Monday: stiff muscles, lots of coffee, no blogging.