Sunday was my parents' wedding anniversary. Thirty-nine years ago they were married; eight months later I was born. My sister the eternally suspicious one was the first to discover this discrepancy. When I found out, it was like a soap opera, except without the gorgeous people or the hunk having an affair with his wife's daughter's half-sister.
We celebrated their anniversary at a crowded Chinese restaurant, where we yelled at each other over dinner (this is one reason that Chinese people yell at each other in a normal conversation). Then we went to the closest house, which was theirs, where the kids watched some 'toons while the husband and I passed out at different times. I also raided their closets and garage as I always do (so much abandoned stuff since my sister got married and moved out). After we had all rested and messed up their place sufficiently, then we picked up a week's worth of food in tupperware that my mom had made and left.
I love these anniversary celebrations. We should seriously do it more often. What's amazing is that my parents really want to.