13 years: a retrospective

It began on a drizzly January day in the same chapel that was used for Goerge Burns' funeral. I was in a pretty, lacey, off-white "tea length" dress. Mr. M was in a tux. Three of my best friends wore beautiful checkered dresses of dark green and dark blue. Mr. M's three accompanying men wore tuxedos. Our mothers wore green dresses. Our fathers wore tuxedos. The first person to walk down the aisle was a bagpipe player wearing a blue and green kilt. Our guests were all happy. They smiled at the bagpiper, and laughed when my dad, a great athlete, rushed me down the aisle.
I had to admit recently in a confession to my friends, that if I were my mom, I wouldn't have let my 20-year old daughter, who lived at home in her ridiculously messy room, and who had never done her own laundry, get married. But it all worked out. It worked out fabulously. Mr. M and I are very happy. He taught me how to do laundry, and now our home has been a happy one. I would like to enumerate for you the number of pizzas we've had, movie nights we've hosted, and jokes we've laughed at . . . but that would take another 13 years. Suffice it to say that our marital cup overfloweth. One thing we do enjoy is a good Costco date. We usually send in some pictures ahead of time, and then we find a nice table in the shade (they have umbrellas on the indoor tables), and have some cheap chow, and then we pick up our pictures and find a nice display couch to sit on while we look at them.
13 is a good number.

Photos on Flickr.