Two years ago today, Rob and I, clutching a panting Boston terrier, walked down the aisle together in New Paltz, New York. It was not quite an historic occasion, as the mayor had already been forced to stop issuing actual marriage licenses to same-sex couples, and yet the air was heavy with moment. Or perhaps that was humidity. Lots and lots of humidity.
I choose to interpret that humidity as a hug from god (and god definitely needs to go heavier on the Right Guard).
If we lived in a sitcom (and I’m not sure that we don’t), a potential wacky hijink was that either Rob or I, or both of us, could have accidentally wound up married to Goblin Foo, like if she had happened to say “I do” before I did, or if she said “achoo” and it was interpreted as “I do,” or if she knocked one of us out and dressed up in his clothes and nobody noticed. Then Rick Santorum’s greatest fear would have been realized. Rick Santorum is the lunatic senator from Pennsylvania who believes that gay marriage is a slippery slope to people marrying animals, an argument that was also made against mixed-race marriages. I’m so glad to know, as we lurch through the global disasters of their own construction, that the Republicans have their priorities straight. They may let ninety-five percent of cargo from suspicious countries enter the country uninspected and look the other way as Pakistan sells nuclear weapons to terrorists, but when it comes to those vast hordes of citizens who want to wed the livestock, nothing is getting past them.
So, anyway, two years.