Sixteen

According to the Farmer's Almanac, the high temperature on June 24, 1995 was 81 degrees.

The Farmer's Almanac is bullshit.

June 24, 1995 was hotter than blue blazes, a fact the men in our wedding party can attest to. They were all in mourning suits, standing in the backyard of a bed and breakfast in Old Salem, under the midday Carolina sun. Art Garfunkle (or his twin brother, at least) played a Casio keyboard under an oak tree, my lace covered Keds kept sticking to the rice paper runner, and my baby faced groom waited at the end of it.

21 years together.
16 years married.
3 states.
9 addresses.
3 children born.
3 pregnancies lost.
18 cars. (!)
2 dogs.
2 cats.
Births and deaths and losses and gains too numerous to mention.
1 man whom I will love forever and ever.

(Unless he doesn't put the child latches on the cabinets this weekend, in which case I will kick his ass and spit in his food.)