Erin Fancy Pants attended Mardi Gras in Mobile earlier this week and brought me some souvenirs. Among them were two Moon Pies – chocolate and orange. While Erin personally recommends Moon Pies for breakfast, I found them unbelievably vile.

Cardigan, Merona. Scarf, Old Navy. Tank, Julie’s Closet. Trouser jeans, Express. Booties, Steve Madden Girl. Chain and silver pencil pendant, vintage. Bag, Simply Vera.
Cincinnati, like New Orleans, is a Catholic town. On my first Fat Tuesday in Cinci, my boss brought a king cake into work. Other than the unsanitary and potentially dangerous practice of hiding a plastic “baby” in the cake, I enjoyed that Mardi Gras treat.
Since Reedie jinxed me, my color theme was noticed again today, at work: “You look like a king cake.” Well, that’s a hell of a lot better than looking like a Moon Pie.

Originally, I was going to call this post “Bourbon Street.” I even had a poem to go with the title:
Bourbon Street
Got no feet
Give me something good to eat
Not a Moon Pie
I’m not gonna lie
I’d rather have a Cadbury Crème Egg
In fact, that’s what I had for breakfast
Which is why this poem is so shitty
Well, that’s as far as I got with the poetry. These pants are so long and wide legged, it sometimes looks as if I have no feet. Proof that they are under there:
