Maybe it was all that history, so many happy times, so many sad times, too. Whatever the reason, when he asked in the spring of 2021, I simply said yes.
My preferred choice of venue: town hall, with a guest list capped at zero. When we rolled into the county clerk’s office, jockeying for space with men filling out fishing applications, it proved too impersonal a setting even for me. The woman behind the counter slid a number in our direction, saying, “Call the town justice. She’ll come to your house.”
On Sept. 14, 2021, 25 years from the date we met, a judge stood with us and a few loved ones in our backyard and we were married. Afterward, I surprised myself once more by saying I didn’t think I’d ever hate a wedding again.
My scorn, I realized, had come from the fact that for so long, I was expected to witness these momentous occasions but was not allowed to be married, too. And when same-sex couples were finally granted the right, I had the opposite reaction of all those who rushed to do it, thinking, “You know what you can do with your sacred institution.” Frankly, it hardened my heart to it all.
And so, my apology: I’m sorry if on your special day, I was only going through the motions. What I’m trying to say: I was working out some stuff.
As for our nuptials, it wouldn’t be a wedding without bad behavior, right? While we croaked out our heartfelt vows, our dog trotted onto the lawn and, in a scene-stealing performance, did her business. Twice. What could we do but laugh?
