So I tried to order a keg yesterday for this party we're having tomorrow night---because, you know, I don't have eight million things to do before I leave the country so I thought tomorrow I'd spend the morning making 75 deviled eggs and the afternoon stringing Christmas lights from the trees in the garden---and I called a local grocery store because someone had told me they knew they did kegs.

The other day, Sean and I interviewed a local chef for an article I was writing—well, I interviewed him and Sean photographed him, which really meant that we both got to leave work early and have someone feed us sauteed baby quail at four o'clock in the afternoon. (And I'm leaving this job again why?) On our way back to the car afterwards, we started talking about how there were so many restaurants in Charleston we hadn't yet been to in the three and a half years we've lived in the city, and Sean said "We could just stay here and eat.

I fell just a little bit in love with Jemima's father on Saturday night, when we attended a party to celebrate her engagement—or, as he put it, “the end of spinsterville.” At one point, upon noticing that Sean’s glass was empty, Jemima’s father nodded towards him and said “son, you’ve got yourself a problem there. Better get another one, or people are going to start thinking you’re a Presbyterian.”

Which is how it came to pass that some hours later, I was able to take this:

Dear Real Estate Agent Who Has Been Charged With Selling The House In Which I've Lived For The Last Two Years (And Who Is A Man),

I'm normally fairly adamant about what I like (black licorice, good manners, boys who layer a short-sleeved t-shirt over a long-sleeved one) and what I don't (Ben Affleck, lipliner, "your" when it should be "you're.") But there are some things about which I just don't know how I feel. Old Navy, for example. The prices are cheap, the stuff is cute, but you can hardly ever wear anything after four or five washes. And Shakira!

When I was eleven, as I have mentioned, I left my family and my life in Hong Kong to attend an all-girls boarding school in the leafy village of Bramley, England. To this day, if you want to make my mother cry, you can say "hey, remember in 1991 when you sent Holly to school 6,000 miles away? When she was eleven? Because you wanted her to have a better education?" Sometimes I bring it up when I really want something from her. Then I hand her a suitcase and some carry-on luggage and say "Bon voyage! Have a good guilt trip!"

So! Thank you all so much for not believing for a second that I would ever enter a professional hot dog eating competition. Obviously, if it had been a professional Tiramisu eating competition, it would have been a totally different story, and you all would have thought, of course, that number two was the lie (because CAN YOU BELIEVE that woman said that to me about the acne?

Is there anything I could have done today that would have made me feel more like a redneck than having a fight with someone in a Wal-Mart parking lot? Maybe if I'd been swigging from a 40, or wearing a Nascar t-shirt with Little Debbie snack cake stains on it, or maybe if Sean had been my cousin and his name had been Bubba and I'd been kissing him, but otherwise I'm guessing yelling at someone in a Wal-Mart parking lot is probably pretty high on the list of Redneck Activities, wouldn't you think?

As you may or may not remember, my friend Jemima is getting married in June. She is the first of my friends to walk down the aisle, and she is also providing me with my Inaugural Bridesmaid's Experience (henceforth referred to as IBE, not to be confused with IBS.) Luckily, the dresses she has chosen for the bridal party are floor-length, simple, a beautiful champagne color, and made from shantung silk.

So Sean is enjoying his unemployment!