Wrangler Dani

Oh my everything. We’re married. No, seriously. Adam and I got married. Remember, the planning? The sparkles? The tumbly who got tied up in knots of butterflies? The hunting for

Or, rather, a very tight knot with butterflies flittering around it, totally carefree of the impact this makes on my already agitated insides. My dress is hanging in Donna’s closet.

Adam has long encouraged me to write more, and like the true cheering squad he is, has lofty aspirations of my writing the Next Great American Work now that I’m

I’m sitting on Adam’s couch, which will soon be my couch, looking at empty Crate and Barrel boxes and unwritten thank-you notes strewn about the house, trying to concentrate on