...the last! the happy!...

Every chocolatey-goodness best friend bone in me wants to be supremely happy for Rachel, and I am. But I am simultaneously and in equal measure sad for me, and for parallel situations that loved her better than me.

Which doesn't surprise me. During all her bouts of insecurity, it was almost hard to be as sympathetic as I could be because I *knew* she was a golden goddess, and that obviously this would be realized, and clearly she had nothing to worry about. And I was right, she didn't.

On that note, I leave you. In the hopes that buying cowboy boots, and body butter from Body Shop, and French movies with les filles + Aimable will make me a happier camper on a gorgeous afternoon.