Bliss (No, Really)

The thing about having a wedding anniversary is you go from this:

to this:

. . . in about 12 seconds flat. Or, okay, in 18 years.

The thing about time? She marches on. And she does not care to wait up for you.

See Ledgie out there? She's 100 years old. She doesn't care that Mistah and I have got a paltry 18 years under our belts.

Well, she cares, but that's not the point. The point is, Ledgie is still out there, and the tides still come in and out, and the sun keeps rising and setting, and the world keeps spinning, and all that blahdie-blahdie-blah.

So all we can do? Is join them.

And that's exactly what Mistah and I did on Sunday.

That's what 18 years of bliss'll do to you.

We joined Ledgie and we joined the tides and we joined the sun and the Earth, and we marched right down to Ocean Beach -- yes marched!  Well, sort of. We walked. We walked! -- and we celebrated 18 years of marital bliss, and the fact that we're still both alive to talk about it.

It was a stunning Columbus Day Weekend around these part. Spectacular, even.

And Mistah took fantastically weird shots. And what, I ask you, would a Columbus Day weekend -- nay, a Wedding Anniversary weekend -- be if Mistah did not take fantastically weird shots??

Well, it would be fantastically unweird.

We drank beer and ate popped corn and watched baseball and then we walked home . . .

. . . into the fantastically weird late afternoon sun.

I love walking home.

And look! How sweet. Someone carved our initials into the sidewalk!

What? Sometimes I call do Mistah MF.