This is why I’m a writer.
Last week, at the Beverly Hills Courthouse, my partner and I were waiting for our turn in the wedding chapel. We had fifteen minutes, so I went upstairs to the bathroom to see if I might could do something about my hair. I’ve been aiming for a disheveled but sexy Brad Pitt look, but it’s turned out to be much more Dr. Emilio Lizardo. Anyhow, I was coming back down on the elevator, and the old guy next to me said, “What are you here for?”
“Marriage,” I said.
“Oh,” he replied. “Congratulations. You one of them same-sex couples?”
“Yes,” I said. “My partner’s waiting for me downstairs.”
I waited for the recoil, but there wasn’t one. This guy was at least 60, and he was pretty rough, but he said, “In ten or fifteen years, people will look back at this, and it’ll be like black and white TV. It’ll all be in the past, and everyone will wonder what the fuss was about.” Then he patted me on the arm and smiled.
I said, “So, what are you here for?”
“Grand larceny.”
