I was away for work in Miami for a few days, and ate my face off on South Beach in between events and meetings and writing by the pool with the warm sun beaming down on my skin. Now I’m back in New York City. In the cold. With no pool.

Thankfully I still have some color on my cheeks from my time in the sun. This after spending a week on vacation in the Caribbean. No complaining here.

This weekend was a big weekend for #The300Wedding (yes, that’s the official hashtag); I finally mailed out my wedding invitations to my guests. I know I complained about the envelopes, but E was totally right about not caring about their appearance. Here’s why.

I love my Brooklyn neighborhood. It has all of the upscale amenities one looks for in a place to live—good coffee shops, amazing gourmet food markets, even a West Elm. But our US Post Office is the nastiest place on earth. It only has one computerized vending machine where you can purchase stamps, and two parcel drop bins. It’s always dirty, with trash everywhere, sticky floors and gum and food-stained tables. To think that I spent all that time sweating over having pristine, fine art envelopes, when the only place to put stamps on the invitations was a sticky, pen marked table. By the time my wedding guests get the envelopes, I’m sure half of them will have tread marks on them.

After coming home from the Post Office, I was starving. Like HANGRY starving. And I was in the mood for bacon, as one is when they’re on a wedding diet and only has about 8 weeks to get toned up for their big day. I fried eggs, because I had a craving for runny yolk—which is weird because I hate runny yolk—and crispy bacon. And manchego cheese, because I still had some leftover in the fridge. And strawberries to counter the saltiness of the bacon. (I sprinkle a smidge of sea salt on the strawberry slices. The salt, and additional salt from the bacon and egg, will bring out the sweetness). The spinach in my fridge was wilted, but we had fresh Italian parsley, so I chopped up a handful and sprinkled it on top of the eggs. Lunch.

Satisfying. Savory. And gone as fast as it took for those invitations to slide down the mail chute.

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