As you stand at the altar with your life companion - a term rapidly becoming archaic - there's an unmistakable quality of closing your eyes, crossing your arms, and letting yourself fall back, hoping she'll catch you. 27 years later, June has never let me hit the ground. She may have hit me in the face with a flyswatter a few times as I fell, but she always, always caught me.
Apparently June puts up with a lot. It's almost uncanny how, with exasperating regularity, when introducing June to new people I've met for more than 30 seconds, their faces crinkle up in an expression of funeral parlour solicitude, and the first thing out of their mouths is "Ohhh.... I'm sooooo sorry. Be brave.... Be brave." As if.
Sooooo June ..... on your special day, caught up as I am in my:
* father and son bonding experience (disingenuous)
* bringing joy to others odyssey (really disingenuous)
* self-amusement sojourn (better)
* vanity project (dead on)
Thank you for long-suffering fools gladly - especially me.
Many happy returns of the day.
All my love.