I used to day-dream about my wedding.
You know, back when I had girlfriends that I could imagine myself marrying. (Not so much consummating the union, but certainly verifying it in front of family and friends.)
My dream wedding was a big 80’s style shin-dig; 8-10 groomsmen and myself garbed in the finest tuxedos that Gengis had to rent that week and my future wife wrapped in a parade float of a Disney princess gown with shoulder poofs like Joan Collins would wear. There would be a 4 tiered punch fountain, a six course sit-down dinner with calligraphed place cards, and display tables overflowing with all the monogrammed sterling we’d been gifted.
But that vision came to a crashing halt when I came to certain terms with myself.
I think y’all know what I mean,
The best I could hope for was some kind of “civil union”.
Didn’t matter anyway, what followed was a string of losers; users and addicts, and guys that really just weren’t that into me and I settled on the fact that I’d better learn to change my own adult diapers because I was probably going to be flying solo.
Our first date was nice, comfortable even. (I had Kylie call me an hour into it just incase I needed an “out”. Which I didn’t). On our second date, sitting on Jamie’s futon, both of us singing “Good Morning” with Gene, and Donald, and Debbie …… I just knew;
This was the guy.
It’s the best twelve years of my life later – and he’s still the guy.
He better be. That’s a quarter of my life I’ve spent with him. (Although, I did get rid of that futon as fast as I could)
We moved in together 9 years ago. And even though we’re partners, best friends, and our lives are completely intertwined at this point, we each had a running joke that,
”I don’t see no ring on this finger.”
But that changed 2 years ago. While standing in Battery Park, looking out at the Statue of Liberty, Jamie produced a small turquoise box and officially asked me to spend the rest of my life with him.
Of course I would.
I never thought that I wouldn’t.
And we were finally able to, legally. On June 26, 2015 the United States Supreme Court recognized that we was the same as every other American. That whomever we choose to love was ok.
We considered just going to Dallas City Hall, or having a simple ring exchange at a boutique hotel. I even toyed with the idea of springing an elopement on him while we were in Key West last year. Why not just work a wedding into an existing vacation? – A half hour diversion from eating conch fritters and lying on the beach.
We didn’t think anyone would want to attend anyway.
But they did.
So last weekend, we loaded a party bus with family and close friends, and dragged them about an hour and a half north of Las Vegas into the Valley of Fire for a small ceremony.
We were married exactly 12 years to the day of our first date.
There were no decorations. No groomsmen. No punch bowls. No stuffiness.
And it was just perfect.
Now, we are more than partners, we’re officially husbands,
And it’s Jamie who is legally bound to decide if I stay on life support. (The correct answer is, “no”) But more importantly, he is first in line to inherit all my crap; thousands of glass Christmas ornaments, 15 pair of velvet slippers – 3 sizes to big for him, every Martha Stewart Living Magazine ever printed, and about 300 mint-condition, carded Star Wars action figures.
Yupp, all his.
Pretty sure this means he is also legally bound to change my adult diapers to,
Lucky, lucky, luck luck.
I’m so looking forward to our continuing adventures together ….. officially as husbands.