I suppose this is sort of thematic:
You know, in the sense that she is laced, like a sneaker, and he… wears sneakers, professionally? I don’t know. It’s cuter than I thought it would be on her, but I don’t know that I think lacing ones maternity boobs into a suit jacket sounds all that comfortable. But what do I know? I didn’t have to wear it. Maybe it feels like sweet relief. Besides, I’m too busy ogling the Leaning Tower of R.Fed to think about it for much longer. Remember when he was a young Swiss phenom with hair like your sixth-grade bestie? How far he’s come. He had NO IDEA. No one did. I shall drink you in, sir, and then toast you and guzzle and ask for a refill.
Oh, but you should see Zoe’s shoes:
Yes, they’re a smidge big, but they’re so FESTIVE. It’s hard to spite a party for being larger.