The 2024 Met Gala is a wrap, but let’s be real, it was missing some major players this time around. Like, where was Blake Lively, the ultimate Met Gala royalty? She and Ryan Reynolds ghosted the event for the second year straight, and fans are totally bummed about it.
Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds ended up skipping their second Met Gala in a row. Instead of hitting the town for the “Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion” themed bash, Blake and Ryan opted for a cozy night in with their four kiddos. Family time over fancy parties—it’s hard to argue with that!
Lively sparked hope she could attend the Met Gala when she went to a Tiffany & Co. event in New York last week. Ultimately, she let that be her big fashion moment for early May.
Blake Lively has quite the Met Gala history, even poking fun at herself for perfectly coordinating with the carpet in previous years. Her last Met Gala appearance was in 2022, where she not only attended, but also co-chaired the event. Embracing the “Gilded Glamour” theme, she stunned in an Atelier Versace gown paired with her signature Lorraine Schwartz jewelry and a tiara.
What sets Lively apart is that she styles herself, even for major events like the Met Gala. She explained that she enjoys the creativity and control it offers.
Fans were eagerly anticipating Blake Lively’s return to the 2024 Met Gala, hoping for her signature style and charisma to grace the event once again. However, when she didn’t make an appearance, disappointment swept through social media. “Blake Lively, where are you?” one fan questioned, echoing the sentiments of many who were eagerly awaiting her presence.
Another fan expressed their disappointment, saying, “pretending to not care Blake Lively isn’t there to save the night #MetGala.” It’s clear that Lively’s absence left a noticeable void for many attendees and followers of the event, underscoring her significant impact and presence at the Met Gala over the years.
Check out Blake’s top Met Gala looks of all time!
Preview photo credit Invision/Invision/East News, Invision/Invision/East News, vancityreynolds / Instagram
She inquired, “What’s the price for the eggs?” The elderly seller responded, “0.25 cents per egg
The old egg seller, his eyes weary and hands trembIing, continued to sell his eggs at a loss. Each day, he watched the sun rise over the same cracked pavement, hoping for a miracle. But the world was indifferent. His small shop, once bustling with life, now echoed emptiness.
The townspeople hurried past him, their footsteps muffled by their own worries. They no longer stopped to chat or inquire about the weather. The old man’s heart sank as he counted the remaining eggs in his baskets. Six left. Just six. The same number that the woman had purchased weeks ago.
He remembered her vividly—the woman with the determined eyes and the crisp dollar bill. She had bargained with him, driving a hard bargain for those six eggs. “$1.25 or I will leave,” she had said, her voice firm. He had agreed, even though it was less than his asking price. Desperation had cIouded his judgment.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The old seller kept his promise, selling those six eggs for $1.25 each time. He watched the seasons change—the leaves turning from green to gold, then falling to the ground like forgotten dreams. His fingers traced the grooves on the wooden crate, worn smooth by years of use.
One bitter morning, he woke to find frost cIinging to the windowpane. The chill seeped through the cracks, settling in his bones. He brewed a weak cup of tea, the steam rising like memories. As he sat on the same wooden crate, he realized that he could no longer afford to keep his small shop open.
The townspeople had moved on, their lives intertwined with busier streets and brighter lights. The old man packed up his remaining eggs, their fragile shells cradled in his weathered hands. He whispered a silent farewell to the empty shop, its walls bearing witness to countless stories—the laughter of children, the haggling of customers, and the quiet moments when he had counted his blessings.
Outside, the world was gray—a canvas waiting for a final stroke. He walked the familiar path, the weight of those six eggs heavier than ever. The sun peeked through the clouds, casting long shadows on the pavement. He reached the edge of town, where the road met the horizon.
And there, under the vast expanse of sky, he made his decision. With tears in his eyes, he gently placed the eggs on the ground. One by one, he cracked them open, releasing their golden yoIks. The wind carried their essence away, a bittersweet offering to the universe.
The old egg seller stood there, his heart as fragile as the shells he had broken. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. And in that quiet moment, he whispered a prayer—for the woman who had bargained with him, for the townspeople who had forgotten, and for himself.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, he turned away from the empty road. His footsteps faded, leaving behind a trail of memories. And somewhere, in the vastness of the universe, six golden yolks danced—a silent requiem for a forgotten dream.
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