"It's a bit wonky," Katie said as she brought plates of chocolate cake through from the kitchen.
"Mind you, that's what tends to happen when you drop it. If you won't eat it, I will." She plonked a plate down on the table in front of me.
I regarded the asymmetric cake with interest.
"Oh, and we're out of paper napkins, so you're going to have to deal with any hand-wiping yourself."
Twelve years ago this very day we were surrounded by friends and family on our wedding day. The dozen years since then have been happy, they've been sad. They've been quiet, they've been noisy. They've been moderately richer, they've been quite a bit poorer. There's been violent disagreement, there's been united fronts.
And quite a lot of cake.
I wouldn't have changed a thing of it. Even when it's meant wiping cake-fingers on my trouser legs.