I was around eight years old (give or take a few years) and I was skipping around the downstairs of my house.

I remembered the “kissing" part of weddings and quickly went to go ask my dad, who was in the kitchen, about it.

I walked up to him and said, "So you and mom are married?"

"Yeah. . . " He trailed off, a questioning look on his face.

I grinned and skipped around my house before returning back to the kitchen. I spoke to him again. "So. . . You two actually kissed?"

"Yeah. . ." He trailed off again, looking at me strangely. I quickly grinned once more and skipped around my house twice.

I forget what happened after this. . . All I remember is being strangely happy.

I wonder if I was sniffing those smelly markers Mom had bought me and accidentally got high. . . Hmm.