My husband is a newspaper guy by trade with a degree in photojournalism. As a side venture, he has done wedding photography for many years.

I usually accompany him to these gigs. We had one just a couple of weeks ago.

Going to weddings always makes me think of our own nuptials. Andy and I got married on June 16, 2001, on the deck at a friend's house on Jimmerson Lake in Steuben County, where we used to live. It was an incredibly beautiful day, one that I look back on with much fondness.

As I do at most of the weddings we work, after the couple had exchanged their vows and were basking in the afterglow of the ceremony, I sighed and asked my husband, "Doesn't it make you want to get married all over again?"

"Not really," he said.

Boy, are men and women different creatures. For men, I think, when they go to a wedding they're just glad they aren't one of the poor saps wearing the tuxes. While women get slight jealousy pangs because they aren't the one in the beautiful gown who is getting all the attention, men are relieved to be able to fade into the woodwork of weddings.

When the bride throws the bouquet, the single women dive for it. When the groom throws the garter, the single men scatter and avoid it like it's toxic waste.

I know my husband loves me and is glad we're married and all, but sometimes I wish he'd wax nostalgic more about our courtship and wedding. Sometimes I flip through our wedding album just for fun. In the eight years we've been married, I don't think Andy has touched the book.

He does carry a worn wallet-sized photo of us on our wedding day in his wallet, but I don't think he takes it out to gaze at it lovingly.

At the moment, I'm trying to get him excited about the possibility of doing a vow renewal service for our 10th anniversary in 2011.

He just wants the two of us to go to Vegas or something.

If nothing else, weddings make me glad I found my one and only. I remember every time we see a couple take their vows that we did it, too, and that Andy and I are committed to each other and our family. It reinforces in my mind that there is nothing the two of us can't get through if we just stick together.

So he's no Humphrey Bogart. He may not be a hopeless romantic, but he's mine and he loves me.

In the end, that's all that matters.