This is the tale of how I went about getting married to who was once my longtime college sweetheart. It didn’t end well, but it was fun while it lasted, and there’s still lots of fun in the telling.
As we watched the gold-banded ring swirl 'round and 'round in the toilet bowl of reality, we realized we were on an alternative path to matrimony.
Having been discouraged by pudgy, interfering fingers from "Wedding On A Tightrope", "Getting Married By The Muppets" and a celebration in the stale beer and pot-reeked basement of my betrothed’s frat house, we decided we were bored with the whole ceremony idea anyway.
But--oh yeah, that was right, we, like, still wanted to get married and stuff, so that if either of us croaked or got smashed up and mangled, we'd at least be able to pick out coffin attire for each other (Pink chiffon, thank you). Well, that wasn't the whole reason, but you get the idea.
Now in Pennsyltucky, that glorious and tolerant state from which we both came, they have the strange pre-nuptial ritual where a stern- looking intern in an ill-fitting polyester nurse's costume plugs you with a syringe and draws her lunch from your veins. Well, we didn't like that idea too much (imagine...eighty bucks to provide someone else's nutrition!). And besides, we would receive neither a donut nor a lollipop. So we nixed the idea of getting married in Pennsyltucky.
Elkton, Maryland, is the Mid-Atlantic version of Las Vegas. More importantly, it was a hour's drive from Philadelphia. Hey...not only was it easy (a 48 hour waiting period instead of a blood test (I guess that's when they expect people to wake up)) but it was also like getting married in some strange, far way locale—like Borneo, except completely not.
Oh, yeah. At this point I feel I should mention that we had been planning on this permanent social surgery for awhile. It was not a shockeroo thing, nor were either of us pregnant. I shall continue.
How we planned our "wedding day." We both found out we were accepted to FreeShoesUniversity for graduate school. But we needed to trade a copy of the surgery affadavit (aka marriage certificate) for cheap housing. Read: need do dumb legal thing quick, and get nest.
Those nice people who put us up for the summer before we went to Tallahassee (otherwise known as my family) thought "Jeepers, they need a ride." And we did, lacking a car and not being all that graceful on rollerblades, so we couldn't hitch ourselves to some vehicle coming down the on-ramp to I-95.
It was a Friday. Elkton closed at 4:30. Mind you, this was just the application for the license, not the "ceremony". My betrothed had to defend his senior thesis at 2:00. Throw in Philly rush hour to this mess.
On the bright side, we DID find the darn courthouse for our next attempt.
Enter Brother Baker and his Pot Mobile. Well, it wasn't actually, but we both were worried that there'd be some goods stashed somewhere, and if we got pulled over...well. But one doesn't look a gift joint in the blunt, so we took the car and tooled back down to the swinging metropolis of Elkton. By the way, McDonald's was cheaper in Maryland than in Pennsyltucky. That was an omen.
So now my betrothed runs around his frat house for an individual with some time to kill who could drive us back to Elkton for the recitation of vows before the Justice of the Peace.