Photographic. Evidence.

“I hate cameras.  They are so much more sure than I am about everything.”
~ John Steinbeck

Husband in town = neglect of minions.  Aunty C. is sorry, but she still love you all and trusts you forgive her as long as she promises to remember you in the will.

We’ve been playing hard.  Lots of movies, lots of eating out (which I will atone for once he’s gone by not setting foot in a restaurant for weeks), family time, and Easter celebrations.

Unfortunately almost none of this is documented.  Some people take pictures of everything (looking at you, godfamily) and they have so many fun memories locked away in photos and online.  J. and I?  Well, pretty sure the last time either of us actually tried to take pictures was at our wedding, almost three years ago!  If anyone asked us to prove we exist, we’d have a devil of a time trying to.

The trouble is, I’ve never been a photo taker.  I prefer writing things down to remember them and I am one of those women who can’t take pictures.  No, really.  I can hold a smile until the very second the photographer presses a button somewhere – most pictures of me feature my face mid expression change.  To say that this is unattractive is a gross understatement.  There is also that sneaky problem of me looking very different in my head than I seem to in pictures.  In my head I am taller, more fit, and my skin is flawless.

Ah well!  We’re going to try and be better about snapping pics from now on, if for nothing else than to prove to perfect strangers that our respective spouses aren’t only to be found in Facebook profile pictures.

Here, see? J.'s real, not the deluded imaginings of a Dickens-esque spinster with far too many cats.


And this is what he, understandably, is looking at. The desert selection at our favorite place to eat. Come visit us, we'll take you there. And may I recommend the Banana Cream Cheese Pie (also known as the ambrosia of the gods!).




3 thoughts on “Photographic. Evidence.”

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