It’s my wedding anniversary. I don’t deserve my husband. No,…I’m not saying that coyly. I literally DO NOT DESERVE him. He’s nice to me ALL the time, even when I’m an asshole, which is most of the time.
In a pathetic Paula Deen style statement of victimization, I’d like to submit Exhibit A, the above photo, featuring me and my grandmother on my father’s side. During this dizzingly happy night at sickeningly quaint country inn in Vermont, she pulled me aside to let me know that my dancing wasn’t up to par, and that I wasn’t keeping time with the music.
OK, first of all,…I’m an AMAZING dancer. Like,…AMAZING. Almost TOO good.
Secondly, I was wearing a 100 pound dress with a cathedral train.
Thirdly, what the FUCK Dee Dee??? (Everyone calls my Grandmother Dee Dee)
Fourthly: No wonder my entire family is so fucked up.
Fifthly: God bless my wedding photographer, who was a photojournalist and shot my entire wedding for free. Granted, we didn’t get a great posed classic picture of my husband and I TOGETHER on our wedding day, but we got this, which is (arguably) better. There is nothing I love more than a photo that captures a real moment.