By Barbara Falconer Newhall
They pulled it off. They got married. They said their vows. They were pronounced husband
and wife by an official person authorized by the state of Minnesota to do that for people crazy enough to promise to love and respect and care for another human being — the same one! — year in and year out for a lifetime.
Crazy because . . . who can know what 2053 will bring? Or 2023? Or 2013, for that matter?
I mention 2013, because right now Peter and Emily are supposed to be honeymooning idyllically on a romantic island off the coast of Sicily — but Peter’s gut is turning itself inside out with the stomach flu.
Emily is standing by. She hasn’t bailed on him yet. In sickness and in health and all that.
So far, so good.