June is a popular month for weddings. Once a friend posted pictures from their ceremony twenty five years ago. The bride and groom were creamy skinned and the photo predated any of the hardships that I, from my vantage point of today, know are in store for them. The roses were showy and the color of fire. The couple were cutting a cake, which was topped with white icing. 

 

Her hair was... exaggerated. Profuse curls were piled on top and spilled down to her shoulders. The dress had sleeves like cantaloupes, and there was enough lace for a Victorian parlor. She felt beautiful, and her groom clearly concurred. They had taken great pains to achieve their pinnacle of fashion. 

 

Which has since changed. 

 

Now she has a short, straight cut, and well, there is more of her to love. He currently looks a bit more beaten up and with good reason. His job is rough, and the faithful man shows up every ding dong day. There sits a heaviness around his shoulders that he does not speak about at social gatherings. But he holds her hand as if she understands. Which precludes any need for me to. Her taste in flowers has also evolved. The other day in their home there was an elegant vase of lilacs, placed not on lace but rather a silk scarf. I think she bought it on a trip to Europe. These days they are gluten free, and never eat cake. None of the ingredients for frosting are in her kitchen. 

 

It might be cause for concern, this sharp shift in how we look, and dress, and entertain. How can we trust that the relationship will last when we are headed into a future and culture that we cannot predict? 

 

I suppose if the binding for two people who will evolve into unrecognizable versions of themselves depended on David's Bridal and Betty Crocker, we would all be doomed.