Ana confesses: I never remember my wedding anniversary.
My husband and I eloped after I suggested we get married, and he said, "Okay." We'd known each other for six weeks. I was eighteen. He was twenty-three, an ex-Marine who'd mesmerized me with his honesty and intensity. We had karma.
We got the required blood tests. Found a minister who would marry us. Asked his best friend and his best friend's girlfriend to be witnesses. I wore my favorite purple bellbottoms and cowboy boots. He wore his best light blue jeans and a long sleeved shirt. (It was 1969.)
Perhaps reflecting the after doubts of my impulsive decision, I have a perpetual blank of the date we tied the knot. It's either November 6th, 7th or 8th.
My hubby remembers. He's got a mind like a steel trap.
I wait until he asks me what I want to do for our anniversary and then I know it's that day.
After 40+ years, I'm convinced he wanted to marry me. I still don't regret not having a fancy - crazy wedding. And I believe in happily ever after.