Our eleventh wedding anniversary was last week. We’ve been celebrating by clearing large amounts of junk out of the house.  Also, today Mr took the day off, friends watched the non-school going kids and we went out and about all morning long. We got home when school got out and spent the afternoon getting rid of still more junk.  Junk that included but was not limited to all of Mr’s giant high school dance pictures. Who doesn’t want a stack 20 8×10’s of one’s self (or one’s husband) decked out is semi-formal attire with various companions none of whom you’ve spoken to in nearly fifteen years?

My high school dance pictures are still up in that closet somewhere, but mine are only 5×7 so that’s totally different.

Anyway.  We all enjoyed one last perusal of the giant photos before sending them off to meet their collective fate.  Ziz fretted and fretted over Roxie’s careless handling of the photos. I decided it was good practice for her so I didn’t tell her that the photos were headed for the trash.  For her part, Rox could not understand why I wasn’t in a single photo.  Every brown haired girl in the stack was put under scrutiny, “Is this you?” “No,” “This one’s you?” “Nope,” She really didn’t want to give up. She was sure she’d find me if she looked hard enough.

My favorite part was noting the awesome power ballads chosen as themes for each dance. Thanks to those commemorative photos and their black cardboard frames I spent my evening belting  “Hold on to the ni-hite. Hold on to the memory! I wish that I could giiiiive you mo-hore,” and so on.

Friends, if I had the proper recording equipment you would be in for a treat.  And just so we’re clear, when I say “treat” I mean awesomely bad videos of myself killing it on some eighties classics.   Sadly, only my family and my neighbors (thanks to the nice weather and consequently open windows) were able to enjoy my performance today. It’s a shame, a real shame.


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