God bless our parents and their incredible restraint to not wring our necks.
In the summer of 1997, just after Chuck graduated high school and I had finished my freshman year of college, we took a trip – by ourselves – to Key West. Because, you know, we were adults and could make adult decisions.
It was one of the best trips we’ve ever taken as a couple. Truly. And no matter how much I cringe when I think of what our parents must have thought at the time, I remember having a fabulous time with my boyfriend, walking up and down Duval Street, watching the sideshow acts on Mallory Square, and touring Hemingway’s house for the second time. We ate at Sloppy Joe’s and watched the sunset at the Southernmost Point of the Continental U.S.A.
This photo is one of my favorites of us: We rented a moped and looped the island without a care in the world. At some point during our ride, I whipped out my 35mm camera, held it at arm’s length, and snapped a picture – a selfie in a pre-selfie era. (The time stamp in the righthand corner is incorrect as I could not figure out how to change the date internally. It was indeed 1997, not 1994.)
God help me if Jeremy or Jackson do what we did when they are 18. Remind me to hide this post when they hit puberty.