Ten years ago, on a cold dark night, someone was killed beneath the town hall light—
No, wait, that’s not right. Ten years ago, on a bright sunny day, Jeremy and I exchanged vows in a (sweltering) chapel in Arizona. That’s better.
Last year we celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary by extravagantly jetting off to Italy for the weekend. This year, in the face of our impending flat purchase and in the midst of the worst winter weather Britain has seen in, like, forever, we’re not going any further than a few blocks away for a quiet dinner at a restaurant called Graze.
On our wedding day, we received a bottle of champagne from our friend Joe with the instructions that it was not to be opened until our 10th anniversary. We had to jump the gun a bit and open it on New Year’s Eve instead while we were still in Arizona, but we still used it to toast Joe and our first decade of marriage.
I love the optimism of giving someone a gift which can’t be used for 10 years. It’s like the optimism behind buying wines for cellaring rather than immediate consumption; you’re making a lot of positive assumptions when you invest in something long term like that (even if “long term” is only ten years).
In light of this, Jeremy and I decided it would be nice if we bought ourselves a bottle of wine for our 10th anniversary which we wouldn’t open until our 20th (gah!). We haven’t quite decided on a wine yet, though we’re thinking along the lines of a Côtes du Rhône because we’re both big fans of those gutsy, spicy wines. Once we make our choice, we’ll slip the bottle into our little wine rack and let it collect dust for the next 3,650 days (give or take a few days)—at which point we’ll pop it open, raise a toast to two decades of wedded bliss, and buy another bottle to drink in the year 2030.