Whoever came up with the saying “A picture’s worth a thousand words” sure knew what she was talking about. We just received the disc of pictures taken in the photo booth at Anne and her husband’s wedding, and they are priceless.
Hiram and I have laughed ourselves silly looking at the shenanigans of friends and family during the wedding reception. Give a guest, young or old, some costumes to wear and a black box to clown around in, and whammo, the inner child comes out.
My inner child, along with my innate fashion sense, emerged once I put on a furry hat, Groucho Marx glasses and a clown collar. And Hiram, in Gerald Burghduff’s old cowboy hat and googly glasses was one handsome hunka-munka. How could I resist either sticking my finger in his nose or kissing him?
Lest you think my actions were highly original, let me assure you that there were at least 5 other nose pokes and 14 couples who took advantage of the photo booth’s privacy to have a quick smooch.
Most of those couples were as old as me, which brings up the second subject of this post. Today is my birthday, and yes, I’m old enough to know better than to stick my finger in my husband’s nose. I’m also old enough to think twice about posting a picture of the two of us smooching. But after thinking twice, I decided it was exactly the right thing to do. After all, both my recently married children indulged in a photo booth smooch with their respective spouses. I need to set a good example, right? After all, my greatest hope for our children’s marriages is that at age 54 they still want to catch a smooch with their sweeties when the opportunity arises.
Happy marriage to you, Allen.
Happy marriage to you, Anne.
Happy anniversary, dear Hiram,
And happy birthday to me.
