Kiss romance goodbye--It's time for the real thing.
In a snapshot taken at my first "wedding," I look deliriously happy. I am a picture book bride, dressed all in white--except for my tennis shoes--with one of my mother's silky half slips draped over my head like a veil. My groom is wearing short pants and has one hand on his hip; the other hand rests in mine. We are six years old. The setting is a pier on the bay in Miami Beach, with the inky water in the background. We're looking squarely at the camera, but my beloved is angling his body away from me and, in contrast to my blissed-out grin, has a look on his face that suggests he'd rather be swallowing worms. I don't seem to notice. Neither did my mother, who wrote "The Boyfriend!" on the border of the photograph before preserving it in the family album.
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