Can I ask you a question?

Shortly after sunset nine years ago today, on this beach in Sag Harbor, I agreed to marry Terence. I've been driving him crazy ever since. Let's face it. I was driving him crazy for the three years leading up to that day, and although he likes to act like he didn't know what he was getting himself into, he knew full well. He asked anyway. Not as smart as every one thinks, that boy.

By the way, this just may be the year that I finally order a wedding picture - if not the whole album.

When I recently told a good friend at work that I had yet to order a single wedding picture and I was about to celebrate my eighth anniversary, he suggested I outsource it. He thought my bagel bearing friends would be a good task force, or at last resort - I could just send the job overseas. When I further told him my mother has made several personal requests for just one picture from that day because she simply wants one of the whole family with my father in it, he looked at me with an expression that said, "Stay right where you are, lady. Don't move. I'm calling the police. There's a place for people like you."

I'm normally very efficient. I don't know why this particular task seems so daunting - although in my defense, our photographer shot about 35 rolls of film. That's a lot of sorting. Maybe I'll start tonight. I can pretend the skin under my eyes is still that taut...