The big luau

Sadly, there was no big pit with a pig in it this year. Everything else was lovely. The singing was lovely, the dancing was lovely (I flatter myself), and the bishopric's Maori war paint (done by me) was stunning. Here's an example. Mine didn't look quite this cool, but almost.

The best part was where I told my friend the meaning of the hula, and she stood in the back and laughed her head off while we were expressing our most intimate, desirous feelings to the ward. Maybe I should have waited until after the performance.

The second best part was when I put on my lava-lava and asked Bret how it looked. It's supposed to be tied at the hips, which put it just below my fat ball, and sort of accentuated the thing. I thought it looked really good. Bret said, after a long silence, "Uh, well, I think I like it a little higher on you." So I scooted it up and tied it a little tighter. This squished the fat ball a little flatter, and I concede it did look slightly better.

Third best part: Delicious food. I sat with my friend and got to pick off all her kids' plates, which was good, because that line was really long and I don't think there was enough for everyone.

Last best part: After the party, Bret kissed me in the manner of Derek Zoolander and Matilda at the end of that one movie and covered my lips and lower face with black face paint. Then we walked around and made everyone crack up.

My neighbor taped the whole thing (not my black face). Perhaps I'll have a video party a la Cicada and show the dances and serve pineapple. I'm not digging a pig pit in my yard.