The worst part about a wedding is the food; both Kate and Sarah have made peace with that.
It isn't asking your wife's help to put your hair in an elaborate updo, then subsequently helping her curl her hair, or sweating your tits off in a dress you bought for the event, then will likely never wear again, or trying to find a dress that fits a plus-size woman without having an unfathomably ugly print, or even the overpriced drinks.
It's the food. It's always shit, and it's always courteous to nod your head and pretend like it was easy to stomach.
That's why, as grown women do, they're sitting on their couch at two in the morning, eating fast food in a state of moderate undress. Kate gave up on her dress; it's abandoned by the door, and she's eating onion rings in her underwear. Her updo survived the day, given the amount of hairspray it required; the ozone layer did not.
Sarah is a lazy drunk, a quality Kate greatly admires. She just unzipped her dress and pushed it below her tits in the name of freedom and comfort; she has a french fry stored in her cleavage. They may have gone too heavy on the drinks.
"Are we dignified people?"
Sarah has to shake her head like a dog to get her hair out of her face. Kate already feels foolish for asking.
"I watched you drop an onion ring on the floor, pick the cat hair off of it and eat it two minutes ago."
Kate works for the fucking CIA; drunk or not, she has the connections to prove the existence of the five-second rule, and it is god damn applicable.
