I see London.
Ahem.
I see France.
Who knew this blog would even cover underpants?
Bridget and I met on during a 4-H trip from Kansas to Washington DC. At first, I thought she was a stuck up and didn't want to talk to me (hey, she later admitted thinking the same of me). But after spending a few days as roommates in our DC accommodations, we became fast friends. I'm quite confident our fate as best friends was sealed when we realized our high school crushes were both named Brady (haha Bridge - oh the stories we could tell!). And unlike typical camp friendships, we thankfully stayed in touch throughout the next school year, and ended up going to the same college thereafter. Nine years later (um, wow!) we live in the same city and still make time for girl talk, life talk, job talk - whatever. She's pretty much my job mentor. And although neither of the Bradys worked out for a permanent gig, Bridget did find someone far surpassing all the qualities poor high school Brady could ever offer (no offense to him, of course), and will soon be getting married to a man who complements her beautifully.
So we must celebrate. A party is in order. Bridge's singleness must go out with a bang. And dorky me couldn't wait to make invitations. Something not too cheeky, tacky, pink, glittery or rhyming (bleh). Something that gets the point across - we're going to have a fabulous time together being classy, sophisticated, and tasteful. Did I say tasteful? Classy? Oops, I meant helloooooo lingerie shower. Nothing says it better than a bejeweled pair of black unmentionables on the front on the invite. Holler.
Bridget's first visit of many while I lived in Denver. Oh what fun we had at the corporate Christmas parties.
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