Anniversary At Home

Seven years ago today, James and I thought we were pretty clever getting surprise-married on April Fool's Day.  The way it played out in social media was predictably a blast. A lot has changed since then! First, photographic evidence.

Back then, young early 40-somethings.

Today. Middle-aged.

Ahh, yes, seven years ago... back when we could sit on the patio at Mozart's Coffee Roasters just eating a snack and drinking some beverages like people unafraid of a global pandemic. Man, how we've grown since then. Also, we were both definitely wearing pants in the first picture. The second? No one but us and the squirrels in the back yard can say for sure.

Also, social media is a thing of the past for me (and James has never been super wrapped up in it), so I'm just assuming that people are going on with their lives without ever thinking of our connubial bliss or the significance of this date.

In fact, we're barely thinking of it. On Sunday, it happened to cross my mind. I asked James in passing, "Do you know what Wednesday is?" He said, "Is it day... what? of the lockdown?" I told him he could think about it a while, and I asked again later. He screwed up his face in thought. I hinted, "Tuesday is the day you get paid." He said, "Is Wednesday the day we're broke again?" "Actually, yes, because the house payment goes out the same day. But that's not it." Then it finally clicked for him.

Last night, I told James, "Don't worry; I won't come out of the bedroom tomorrow until you tell me it's safe to emerge and see my surprise." We both got a laugh out of that one.

I did make a celebratory chocolate bobka, though. It's extremely tasty.

There's really no one else I'd rather be stuck in the house with for an undetermined period. And, if there ever were a perfect time to be remanded to the domicile, this would be it. That is, if you believe in the "Seven Year Itch." If that were to be a malady to which either of us were predisposed, attempts to scratch it would violate federal recommendations as well as state and county orders.

Here's to seven more years, and then another seven. We'll just keep going until one of us dies of stubbornness. Lucky us.