Six Weeks Ago
Rocco and I are sitting at the table having dinner. He had recently been offered a position at a new ATT/Apple store. Rocco asks what kind of insurance I have.
“Umm, none,” I reply. “My company doesn’t offer insurance because there are so few employees.”
“What? That’s crazy. You need insurance,” he says.
“Yeah, well, not gonna happen.” I go back to picking at my sweet peas, which are Rocco’s favorite (and my most hated) vegetable.
“I guess we’ll have to get married, then,” Rocco muses.
“HA HA HA! HA HA HA HA HA!”
“No, think about it,” Rocco continues. “I’ll have insurance and you won’t. And you need it.”
“Why?” I ask. “Because I’m old and fat and smoke?”
“Although you might be on to something. We could register and get all kinds of free shit for the house!”
“Well, yeah. I guess,” Rocco says.
I call Aunt Doodie straight away to tell her of my hilarious impending nuptials. She immediately begins planning the wedding, including asking what kind of dress I plan to wear and offering to host both the engagement party and the reception.
“Hold your horses there, Doodie,” I say. “It’s not that kind of wedding. We’ll get a marriage license, sign it, and that’s it.”
Four Weeks Ago
I talk about The Wedding all the time to Rocco, mostly just to freak him out. I fully anticipate he’ll break the engagement, but to my surprise he starts asking me to do things like get my credit report and find my birth certificate. (He is so romantic!) Most of my friends think this wedding thing is beyond funny, although a few of them stand in abject horror at the very idea. But I figure there’s really no harm. Rocco and I live together and are already considering buying the house we’ve spent so much time and money renovating. He’ll never get married, and at this point it looks as though I likely won’t, either. I figure if I ever do meet someone and decide to marry, Rocco and I could have our union annulled on the grounds that we’d never consummated the marriage. But then certain buzzkills started throwing around words like “fraud” and “felony,” and I had to start being a little more careful about whom I told.
Three Weeks Ago
I make the now-famous announcement in the hospital waiting room on the night of my mother’s initial medical emergency. It is brought to my attention that if my mother was aware that I was marrying a gay man, her brain would explode all over again.
Two Weeks Ago
Rocco gets a new, better job offer with Starbucks.
“Good news!” Rocco announces. “Starbucks offers domestic partner benefits, so we don’t have to get married.”
“Wow! Okay,” I say. “So we’re not getting married anymore?”
“No point in it now, is there?” he asks.
“Well, if we got married we were going to register for gifts. And I really wanted a Cuisinart. I don’t know what a Cuisinart is, but dammit, I wanted one!”
“Oh, man! I forgot about that. I was looking forward to the free shit,” Rocco says.
“It’s okay. Maybe you’ll get fired from Starbucks and have to go to work for ATT/Apple,” I say in consolation.
But then I found out what a Cuisinart was, and now I’m disappointed. A $400 mixer? I could totally use that!