I did get to work today. I still felt lousy, but I know I'm not contagious. It was a good day. I came home and - you guessed it - knitted. I have a third of a sock to go. It should all be done by Christmas.
For some reason I started thinking tonight about all of our weddings that happened about the same time, and was pondering something that I've often thought about. Most of the guys just wanted to be told when and where to be and what to wear. But you were different. We planned every bit of it together. Some of that was geography - your mother was in Ohio, mine in South Carolina, and we and the wedding were in Kentucky. But mostly it was just us.
I remember all the hours we spent looking at bridal magazines together and talking about what we liked and didn't like. Remember that we cut out pictures and glued them into a notebook? I still have it; it's in the cedar chest. And I wouldn't part with it for anything. We had so much fun doing that.
It was your wedding as much as it was mine, and I wanted it to be what you wanted. And it was important to you to be involved in all the planning and decision-making. None of that was difficult because we've always had very similar tastes. We wanted a simple wedding; I had always wanted a morning wedding like Mama and Daddy had; we each had one obvious person for attendant. And we both love daisies. The only decision I made without you was choosing the pattern for my wedding dress - Mama and I did that together. And she and I chose the flatware pattern, but I new that you'd love it, and you did.
I'm starting to ramble. What I really wanted to say is that I loved planning our wedding with you and I can't imagine doing it any other way. I'm glad we're odd in the same ways. Thank you for being you, the World's Only Perfect Man. (Are there other perfect men in Heaven? I doubt it. At least not as perfect as you.) And thank you for marrying me. Our wedding was perfect.
Adore you always,