If you're in the Central New York area, you may have caught the piece back in August about
I like Jeff a lot. It's not about his columns – sure, he's funny, and he knows how to stir up trouble (oh the things I'm not allowed to tell you about) – I know him personally. He's a nice guy. Calls me Justin all the time, but I've been called worse. And I'd be saying that even if his hands weren't 18 inches across and he couldn't crush my head like it was a potato chip.
But a letter-writer hit it smack on the nose. Go on, she said, look me in the eye and tell me about the
I was at a wedding this weekend. The officiant was the first one in tears. It was under a minute, by the way. The woman who accompanied me to the wedding had never met either of the couple, and she was crying. During the 10-minute ceremony, there were two rousing ovations, plus a third, standing one.
Of course, they're not married, because this is one of over 40 states and they're both women.
Sure, they own property together, have pets, are talking kids next year, maybe livestock, too. But nope, sorry, while you (quite clearly) love each other, your families and friends are totally gaga over your relationship, and you're even planning on that stuff that's supposed to make marriage sacred, you both have the same equipment, so it doesn't count.
So, on the way to their honeymoon, they're going to make a stopover and make it legal, and hopefully that will stick – and they'll both be able to do things like, say, visit each other in the hospital and do the parent-teacher conference thing.