Wedding Bell

“Mild, hot, or fire?” the cashier asked, handing my husband the tray of tacos. “All of them,” my husband replied, grabbing the tray to bring it to the table, where I sat with our son. Our son was five at the time. Both of my men love Mexican food. How did that happen? I was never a Mexican food aficionado, but here I was, sitting at Taco Bell, getting fast-food tacos.

Every now and then, we made the twelve-mile trek to the nearest small city to enjoy them. The fast-food chain was my only exposure to Mexican cuisine growing up in South Florida. The influences there were primarily Cuban and Puerto Rican, so I had never actually eaten authentic Mexican cuisine. Taco Bell was my only point of reference. I was not really into it. Later in life, my husband introduced me to authentic, or at least more authentic, Mexican food, which I do like once in a while. Both my husband and son can eat it every day and be content.

My husband sat down and set their favorite food on the table. We unwrapped the paper envelopes and began to enjoy our meal. It was early in the afternoon.

I received a call just then, so I answered it and took care of whatever it was about. I don’t remember the caller or the reason for the call anymore.

When I hung up, I noticed the date: September 14, 2011. It was a sunny Wednesday afternoon.

I looked up at my husband. He asked what was wrong. I didn’t look concerned, but I did have the not again look.

I told him we did it again. He was a bit confused, and that’s when I said we had forgotten it was our anniversary. That day was our tenth anniversary. Ten years married to my husband, a mother for five years, and we were sitting at a Taco Bell.

For ten years, we had forgotten our anniversary. Every year, it would come and go. A couple of days later, one of us would remember and bring it up with a chuckle, a “Happy Anniversary,” and a kiss. That must seem weird, I know.

He and I were not big on making a big deal out of any date, meaning a day on the calendar. We both believed that special dates were a bit foolish and unnecessary. We also did not agree with the amount of American dollars wasted on creating a special day for every little occurrence, person, place, or thing that tickled the government into spending months lobbying for it.

Do we really need a Rose Day, a Constitution Day, National Catfish Day, or a National Hugging Day? Does anyone ever know how much it costs us every time they add a Red Yarn Day or a Scented Trash Bag Day to our calendar? It’s beyond ridiculous, but the whole thing feeds into why we don’t adhere to the ridiculous. If they keep making a special day for every insane thing, nothing becomes special. Back to square one.

So my husband and I both felt that every day was special. We didn’t need one day in a calendar year to show love, like Valentine’s Day, or to celebrate giving, like Christmas or Easter.

If you think about it, none of the days we use for celebrations make sense. Christmas, which commemorates Jesus’ birth, falls in December, even though he was born in the summer. Easter, a pagan holiday, is celebrated 40 days after the wrong birthday of our God (for believers). Valentine’s Day is, in fact, a morbid day because St. Valentine was beheaded, and there is no confirmed evidence to support the premise for the holiday to begin with.

My husband and I began to laugh. Our son asked us why we were laughing, and we told him. He just shook his head. He didn’t really grasp the cultural significance of forgetting an anniversary. We don’t either, actually.

I always wonder why couples, especially women, get all bent out of shape if their partner forgets a “special” date. Is it really that monumental that they can’t get over it? Wasn’t the actual day you were supposed to remember the date? We try to make every day special.

If he wants to get me candy, he just does. If he gets me flowers, he does it whenever. When Christmas rolls around, we don’t get each other special gifts because of the commercial holiday. We just get those things throughout the year and give them to each other whenever we feel inclined.

I think it took two decades of marriage before we began to remember our anniversary date. It has never been difficult to remember it, mind you. We got married three days after 9/11, and that is another funny tale.

That day at Taco Bell, we looked at each other, laughed, and smiled as we said Happy Anniversary to one another. Then my husband said something I have never forgotten. He told me that in years to come we would have that little moment to tell our friends and share a good laugh. And we have.

We tell the story a lot. We especially laugh about it when we tell it to a couple having a tiff over missing an important day. I still smile.

My anniversary romantic dinner was at a fast-food outlet with a child in tow. Romance at its best. Those are the special moments. The ones you recall and smile about.

(Published by: Heartline Publications on Medium, June 2026)

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