Me and the Missus are discussing our marriage after I look at one of our wedding pictures and smile affectionately at her. ‘When exactly did we get married?’ she asks breaking my moment of nostalgia.
‘It was September 2001.'
'Yes. I remember it now. The same month and year as the World Trade Centre disaster.'
Many lesser husbands would be offended by this aide memoire but I realise she does not say this with any degree of sarcasm. Her brother was in New York at the time and we married two weeks after this happened and, at a time when flying in the US was considered very dangerous, he took the flight and came to see us marry.
Sadly she decides to extend the analogy and score into the sarcasm open net that is gaping before her. In fairness I would do the same to her...
‘Yeah. I married an idiot the same year as a major disaster…’ she smiles. 'Makes sense...'
'You know, if I'm such an idiot why exactly did you marry me?’ I ask. She gives it some thought then answers.
‘Well it meant I no longer needed a lodger.’
Who says romance is dead? I'm glad I broke her lamp. I may yet break another one out of spite...
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