When Antique Daddy and I married, we hired a free-lance wedding photographer. Her deal was that she would take all the pictures for a fee and then turn over the negatives. In the intoxicating afterglow of the wedding, I spent a fortune having pictures printed which I subsequently stuck in a box and haven’t looked at since. Wedding fever. It’s responsible for pens made of large white feathers and keeping the ribbon and tulle industry afloat.
In the intervening eight years, digital technology has come of age. And so when I ran across the box of wedding pictures along with the negatives, I decided to take the negatives and have them put on a CD. Which proves that the spending on the wedding just never stops.
At any rate, now I have them on my computer and Antique Daddy and I were looking at them the other day and reliving what a fun day that was and how much we enjoyed our wedding. We also took notice of the damage eight years of marriage can do to a waist line.
“Look honey,” I said whistfully. “Here I am about seven pounds skinnier.”
“You were too skinny if you ask me,” he replied without prompting.
And at that moment, I was never more attracted to him.
Photo: temporarily unavailable.