Last Saturday, for our 12th anniversary, Alex and I went out to Les Trois Chevaux, a new, buzzy and very fancy French restaurant in the West Village. He wore a suit and tie, and I wore a dress and lipstick, and we ate frogs’ legs and drank Champagne in glasses that were so paper-thin, you felt like they might dissolve along with the bubbles. Last year, during quarantine, we didn’t celebrate our 11th; and for our 10th, I was in a depressive fog, so this year, we decided to do it up!
When we got home, we were feeling extra schmoopy, and eight-year-old Anton secretly took my phone and snapped two photos of us kissing in the kitchen. It was such a sweet surprise to see the shots.