So Barb and I have finally crossed over. 31 is done. We're off in pursuit of completing the thirty-second year of our marriage. Thanks to our friends for, well, being friends. Your efforts are appreciated. YOU are appreciated. More than you could ever imagine.
Below is our latest newborn. Newborn photo, that is. Only one day old. Why the hell does Barb's Aging Clock run at such a different pace than mine? I wait in dread of the day a concierge asks: "Would you and your father like a table inside, or outside?" Not sure whether I'll laugh, or clock the guy.
Side note: Barb and I were comparing friends. No, not in a "Mine are better than yours, so pfffft on you!" way. We were comparing who among our friends are still married. Strangely, many of our close high school and college friends who got married, still are. A percentage somewhere north of 90. Plodding happily along in the midst of the most prolific divorce generation this country has seen. The Boomers. We, meaning the friends I am talking about, must all have some kind of disease. A constancy disease.
I wonder, why?