I have a love-hate relationship with my husband taking photos. He tends to snap, snap, snap without putting a whole lot of thought into what he’s snapping (it’s rare I hand him my camera because he takes so many photos that I then have to sort through and delete).
Imagine my surprise when we’re hanging out as a family and he’s snap, snap, snapping away at me. I’m rarely the subject of the photos. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Nothing.” Right. Then I get a string of text messages with these. Why? I don’t know. I guess eating a funnel cake is me in my natural element. That goes for any dessert, really.
“You might need to write about those.” Maybe I do.
I have to say, I like seeing me how he sees me. He loves me differently than anyone on this earth. He’s seen me at my worst and at my best. He can make me mad like no one else and the happiest girl on the planet (sometimes simultaneously). There’s no one else I’d rather do life with.