Minnehaha Falls

We went to the St. Paul Farmer's Market one Saturday. It's a fantastic experience, as all the foods must come from within 100 miles of the city. We walked the colorful stalls, past herbs and soaps, vegetables and apples. We bought cheese, pastries, and apple cider to take on a picnic to Minnehaha Falls. The DNB also bought meat sticks. More meat sticks than any man should ever need.

"Sometimes a man just needs a meat stick," the DNB proclaimed. Yeah he does.

As we sat at the base of the falls, our picnic spread around us, a sweaty, chubby photographer whose glasses magnified his lazy eye approached us. He was taking senior pictures, he told us, and could we just move? Just for 15 minutes, he explained, he was asking nicely.

I thought about it for a moment. I didn't want to be that person, but it was a Saturday. In a very public place. With scads of people coming to see the falls. And I had my picnic all set up.

"No," I replied.

He blinked at me. "You won't move?" I'm not sure anyone had denied him photography-wise before.

"No, I don't want to," I said simply. It's a phrase I use often with the DNB, because in a marriage sometimes it's just enough that you choose. In a marriage, you don't have to have a reason. But the sweaty photographer just stood there; he was waiting for one.

"You don't want to?" We shook our heads. He walked away, defeated.

The senior princess and her mother stared daggers at us as we munched our pastries.