Don't Go To Pickles

It's my husband's and I's seventh wedding anniversary, and I'm having trouble believing it's been that long. Seems like just yesterday, I was a scared kid being nudged down the aisle by my daddy's shotgun (kidding, hardy har). But really, time does fly when you're having fun.

It all started out with a whimper. We went out to dinner at a steakhouse we'd driven past a bunch of times and thought "we should try that place sometime" but never did. And we never should have. Because it was the worst dinner ever. Ever. I ordered a ridiculously expensive New York Strip, and when it got to the table it was grey. Grey. And not surprisingly, well over done. Growing up, my dad believed in cooking steak to the point of shoe leather. I'm not a stranger to a chewy slab of beef. But a grey steak is a first. Moreover, it didn't look like a New York Strip. It was thin and squarish. I sent it back, of course, while my husband looked on like a starving puppy because he didn't want to eat without me, and it came back exactly the same way. So I ordered a cheeseburger, because I was past the point of wanting to drop more than a few bucks at this place, and there's no way to mess up a cheeseburger, right? Sadly, I was very wrong.

Now for a pallette cleanser to wash out the negativity, and memory, of that horrible restaurant:


Ah, that feels better.

Of course, not everything about the night was bad. We capped off the evening with a trip to Hobby Lobby, where I got some pretty cotton yarn. And then there were the presents:


A limited edition Hello Kitty bobble head celebrating Sanrio's 50th Anniversary. So cute.


This adorable little plush will make a great addition to my collection. I'm a sucker for all things kimono.

Overall, not a bad anniversary.