I’ve got a confession. I’m getting married on Sunday.

I refer to my domstic partner as my husband because it’s easier than typing “oh my domestic partner was all, yeah let me change that poo diaper and THAN give you a back rub!” It’s easier that explaining what the hell a domestic partner IS. I’m not even sure, but I know it gives us health insurance and is exactly like being married [complete with pointless dramatic fights about who does the dishes] minus the paper. I ENJOY being domestic partners, and if it were up to me I’d float around in my domstic partner shaped bubble oblivious to things like dress fittings where you’re told to “not get any fatter…” and arguing about whether to sit divorced parents near each other.

But everyone wants to see us married, sort of like they want us to baptize our daughter so you know, we don’t end up in Limbo or hell, or wherever we will go.  I agreed to do it, fine, and my father with all his alcoholic guilt is paying for a large wedding, a large wedding we are not prepared for. We have the centerpieces, the flowers, the menu, the seat charts, I even lost 2lbs [actually, I may have gained it back at Mothers Day brunch] but um, we didn’t get our marriage papers yet, and we still have no one to marry us. I’m all for an afternoon in the court house wearing a comfortable sundress, but I’ve been threatened by members of my family that that shit ain’t going to fly. It’s my fault too, for procrastinating but I don’t see what the big deal is?

See, my families lovely. Whether we are domestic partners, or husband and wife. To me, my partner IS my husband. He’s my love, and my best friend. We are more happy than people I know who are getting married, or already have done so! I want to keep my last name anyway, I want to have a party with endless Shirley temples and pink rose petals as partners, and the creators of the most beautiful little cherub in the world. I don’t want to scream at husbandpartnerdude because we BOTH are procrastinators and waited to long to do this, I don’t WANT to think about our parents [both sets] who have chosen to either hit the road, or get re-married sitting next to each other, and feeling awkward the entire time. I just want to be happy.

They are bursting my little bliss bubble. This is the imperfect wedding.

Are you married?

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