Today is our three-month anniversary.
I’m sure that some day we will struggle to remember our year anniversary, but for now every month marks a milestone that necessitates champagne and steak for dinner.
I have learned a lot about James in these past three months, and a lot of them have to do with how wonderfully hilariously different we are: I love anything covered in weird veined cheeses while James only consumes dairy products from cows. Sometimes I watch the Les Misérables trailer just so I can enjoy a good cry, and James mourns that this is the final season of 30 Rock. James can fall asleep just by standing still long enough, and I have a night-time ritual with so many steps and accessories that it is a wonder I ever make it to bed. James piles – I stack. (Yes, these are VERY different.)
And, notably, James hates Instagram. Hates it. Thinks it is an agent of destruction at every event, a tool of disruption at every party, a senseless delay to every meal.
I, on the other hand, am fascinated with it like every good I-recently-graduated-to-an-iphone owner. Life is just so much prettier through a variety of trendy filters.
The obvious tension between our two positions on Instagram leads to lots of pictures like this:
Of course, James himself just moved from a phone with a broken screen that only showed the last word of a text to an iphone so who knows – maybe he will soon join the Instagrammers?
Maybe, but probably not. And deep down, I am glad. Because as long as he stays off, there is someone to remind me to put down my phone and enjoy life as it is happening, not after the fact, through a haze of artificial filters. There is someone to keep me in check and remind me that it is the living of life that matters, not the looking at it or showing it to others. For that – and for so much else – I love him.
(Disclaimer: Yes, James is eating apple pie for breakfast in the photo above. Early months of marriage are high on love, low on nutritional value. Love and domestic bliss can be rough on healthy aspirations)