Sixteen years ago today, a 23 year old guy and a 22 year old gal got married.
He still had a retainer and she was still a size 6. They had no gray hairs, no wrinkles, no stretch marks. They also had no money and several people thought they were too young to get married. The bride's two grandmothers actually encouraged the couple to live together for a while before tying the knot. The groom's mother? She was quite unhappy when her son called to let her know he was engaged, but that probably had nothing to do with the groom's age.
But the bride and groom looked deep within their hearts. They knew this wasn't a passing fancy. They were both children of divorce, so they knew the odds, and they were determined to beat them. They spent months discussing every possible scenario, from their thoughts on children (at least two, possibly more) all the way to the end of life to what kind of funerals they wanted. They didn't focus on the one day, with the ceremony and the party and the silly overpriced accouterments that are deemed necessary for a proper wedding. They looked beyond, to the next week and the next month and the next fifty, sixty, seventy years. If the marriage contract could have been notarized with their blood and sealed with their souls, they would have done so. In effect, they did.
Happy anniversary Pete. Thanks for putting up with my shit for so many years. And in exchange, I grant you a lifetime of weekend beers and smelly salsa and I won't complain (too much) about your burps and farts.