I think they're trying to tell us something: "we have no fucking idea how to make a language."
The movies make getting married out to be a cute, lovey-dovey gigglefest with hearts and rainbows and unicorns. This is incorrect. Weddings are beautiful, heartfelt ceremonies that celebrate lifelong love and commitment. A tapestry of joy and sadness, fulfillment and melancholy loomed of the fabric of two hearts. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about getting married.
Lest we forget, marriage is not only a sacrament (for the Catholically-inclined among you), but a legal institution. That's the thing all those nice gay rights folks are fighting for. And I'm not going to make the obvious joke about how we should all just let the gays be as miserable as we married folks are (frankly, I haven't been married long enough to make that joke), but honestly I don't think the movement has considered the sheer volume of paperwork they're getting themselves into.
Actually, I did make the obvious joke and I apologize. That was really, really lazy of me.
So instead of getting married, say... here:
...here.
No, I'm not kidding.
Sadly, a realistic appraisal of our budget didn't allow for a wedding ceremony of any kind here in the 'Pan, beautiful as it would no doubt have been.
But for all that, the photocopying of passports, collecting of witness signatures, and 8AM trips to the U.S. Embassy, I can still say one thing: it was, bar-none, the greatest decision of my life. Waking up the next morning penned into a single-size bed, pins and needles rippling across the left side of my body indicating I was either suffering a debilitating stroke or that the love of my life had been compressing me into the box springs for the past six hours, I looked into her eyes and knew that this beautiful, charming, intelligent, blanket-stealing woman was mine forever, and I hers, our hearts shackled together in the bindings of love and matrimony.
I just wish our cell had a bigger bunk.
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