Buddy + Nicolle = 4/Ever.

If I were to give you a recap of the things I've done since arriving this weekend, much of it would revolve around food.

I felt the need to share that. As if this were some kind of "group therapy" or something. Which it isn't. Cause if it were...you people are not exactly doing a bang-up job on my mental "healthiness."

Yesterday after church I went to have Mexican food with my family cause I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

And then immediately left there and went to a fish fry at my best friends house, because again, I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

And then last night my cousin brought pizza to the house and I think someone said, "Melissa, you can't play Phase 10 and not eat pizza." And then I was like, "Oh yeah, I forgot about that rule." And so...you guessed it...I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

By the time all was said and done the Attorney General and I had feasted over 3,000 times on food from over 87 continents (I don't know if there even are 87 continents, but as you can see, I'm trying to drive a point home.) And I have to say...even over the Tex-Mex, and the pizza, and the Blue Bell and the Shipley's donuts - THE SHARK WON.

Yeah, you heard me right. Hands down. Grilled shark is where it's at. Grilled shark is supposedly a lean fish, very healthy, so I paired it with some fried hushpuppies, french fries and fried Mahi-Mahi. Because I believe in living a long life and watching your children grow up is completely over-rated.

Buddy and Nicolle had us over for this Fish Fry Frenzy and we had a great time. Now, let me tell you a little about B and N.

Their little story goes like this...

Nicolle has been my best friend since we were 7. I wish I had 80 friends just like her, but friends like her a few and far between. I could spend every minute with her and never get tired of talking or laughing. If it were -3 below zero outside and snowing but I really really needed her shirt - she would take it right off and hand it to me. That's just how she is.

Of course, let's not go overboard, I mean, she can't cook worth a dime. She's late everywhere she goes. She refuses to be dramatic or "over the top" about anything - even when I really, really need her to be. And still to this day whenever she goes underwater and comes back up, something is always hanging from her nose. Always. I've never seen anything like it. It's kind of a fascinating medical thing, I think.

Buddy and I lived together for 3 years when I was younger. (I got your attention now, don't I?) We really did, though. It wasn't anything romantic, though let's be honest, he probably desired that in a BIG way...but since I was, like, 12, and pretty much learning how to wear deoderent it really never went anywhere.

Buddy lived with my parents and I for a good portion of my teen years. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that one day he would marry my best friend. I mean, we used to sneak into his room and go through his underwear drawer and GROSS OUT at his choice in prints. Ahhh...good times.

But Buddy moved away and got married.

And Nicolle moved away and got married.

But then Buddy moved back home with a broken heart.

Right about the time that Nicolle moved back home with a broken heart.

And somehow, those two found each other, after all those years apart, after broken marriages and broken hearts...and now they look about as happy as two people could.

Sure between the two of them there are two broken marriages - but that makes their recent vows even all the more precious.

And sure between them are SEVEN children - but that just makes their home one of much laughter and hysterical chaos.

And I couldn't be happier. For either of them. Oh, their wedding was something. As I stood there, beside my best friend and "brother" I thought about how when Nicolle and I were 13 and we would gross out when he wouldn't put the seat down...or his immense amount of body hair...or roll our eyes at every new blond he would bring home...and now there he stood, holding her hand, making her promises, loving her kiddos as his own. It was sweet. Very sweet.

And there's nothing I like better than celebrating the love between a man and woman over an 18 pound Fry Daddy.