In this picture I am not quite two years old. I am at my Aunt Ruth and Uncle Jim’s wedding, holding Aunt Ruth’s bouquet. I remember the dress I’m wearing in the picture: bright pink, silky material underneath a gauzy white with pinkish-orange rose buds (or were they tulips?). When I was older I dressed my dolls in it. But the story behind this picture is that once I had my hands on the bride’s bouquet, I wouldn’t give it back.
Apparently there was much coaxing and bribing. But I would have nothing of it. The flowers were mine! If you look closely, my left hand even looks like I’m trying to give everyone the middle finger.
What I remember most is how pretty the flowers were. The prettiest things I had ever seen! Pinks and whites and ribbons… And I had them! In my hands! And they smelled good. I remember proudly prancing around with them on the lawn, weaving my way between clusters of wedding guests. People smiled at me.
Then they needed the bouquet for the wedding photos. Apparently when they tried to take back the bouquet I put up such a fuss that in a number of the photos, Aunt Ruth is holding me holding the flowers. (And Aunt Ruth is still a great sport about those kinds of things!)
I like to think I’m not so stubborn anymore. But I’m still a sucker for flowers.