Today is our first wedding anniversary. That is, it is the first anniversary of the day when we exchanged our rings and ceremonial vows, not of our actual legal state-recognized wedding, which for immigration purposes actually took place in the dead of January in our living room with a kindly but wacky Justice of the Peace and thus is not something we feel compelled to commemorate.
Our first anniversary happens to fall on a rare day of calm in the metaphorical storm that has been the month of September. The sky was as blue and serene as it was on the day of our wedding, and we went to Crane’s Beach in Ipswitch, where we walked in the dunes, ate a picnic of paté, Tomme, and Bordeaux, and laid on our towels listening to the Patriots fumble against the Jets on our portable radio and watching the waves roll in.
We debated going out to eat, but decided to use the money that we would have blown at Chez Henri on a lavish home-cooked meal of foie gras w/ argula, slow-stewed wild boar (!!!), more delicious cheese, and a few sips of a nice vin rouge.
For dessert, we defrosted a piece of our wedding cake, as is the tradition. Sadly, my strict no-sugar no-flour diet prevents me from partaking of cake, so Mr. P must eat it for both of us.
“Is it still good?” I asked, watching him spoon the cake into his mouth with relish. (Not actual relish).
“Mmmmmm,” he said. “A little dry, but the icing! It tastes exactly like it did one year ago.”
“It does?” I asked happily. “That’s a good omen, right? If the wedding cake keeps, then our marriage will keep.”
“Mmmmmm,” he said.
“But only if we wrap ourselves in aluminum foil and live in the freezer,” I add.
Wedding Cake, 1 Year Later
