Hubs and I trekked all the way out to High Park today to see the cherry blossom trees in full bloom, and I was literally skipping with excitement as the delicate barely-pink flowers came into view. I whipped out my camera — thrilled to be using it again on such a photogenic subject after months of Nikon-neglect — and managed to take exactly three pictures before the battery died.
Years from now, Hubs might claim that I threw a little tantrum right there on the hill overlooking Grenadier Pond. Someday, he may even insinuate that I shed a sulky tear, that I stomped my motorcycle-boot-shod feed in a highly immature fashion, and that I hatched a series of morally dubious plots involving battery-theft from the cameras of our fellow park-goers. Heck, he could even imply that the only way he managed to appease me was with a solemn vow that we would return the very next day, all the way back to High Park, with a full battery and plenty of time for me to shoot cherry blossom trees like every other special, totally unique ladyblogger on the planet.
But it'll be his word against mine.
All three measly photos by me