Matt’s wedding.
So lovely! Cute little park in St. Paul, very small, and filled with little touches that made the event ever so “them.” Like, for example, Matt whipping out his iPhone to read his vows from it. And the fact that they generously and selflessly made sure that Scott got a piece of vegan cake so as not to be left out. And that they brought Jenga for people to play at the reception. Because, you know, when is it NOT appropriate to play Jenga?
(However, I do need to take this opportunity to point out that it’s been YEARS, Matt, and I have not received my gallon can of cold fudge. Totally surrounded by DQ-owning Pruetts, and nobody ponied it up to me. Do you know how disappointed I am in you, Pruett clan? I’m looking especially at you, Vickie. It’s really hard to believe that you had other things on their mind on this night, like how gorgeous Beth looked or how sweet Marcus was, dancing with his nephew. No, I’m quite sure that the guilt that you all felt from depriving me of my smorgasbordal experience with cold fudge was eating you alive that night. Eating. You. Alive.)
At a later point in my visit I had a high-five moment with Minde when I noticed to her that she and I are literally the oldest people I know never to be married. But it warms this spinster’s grinchy shriveled heart to see one of the most deserving people I know take the woman he loves down the aisle. Best wishes to you guys!!
(And, lucky me, Beth is the only Pruett I know that has the follow-through to get me my can of cold fudge. I just know it.)
Next: Minde.
