We walked into San Francisco’s city hall today, put down our bags at security, and the security guard beamed at us and said, “County clerks office is down the hall and to the left.”
“We… um… what?”
(Grin) “Down the hall to your left.”
“Um, we’re here for a marriage license?”
At which point the guard totally cracked up, “Girlfriend, please. With a grin like that on his face? Like you could be here for anything else.”
It felt like a tiny taste of what the wedding might be like, and it did feel auspicious and giddy and free. I was so excited and shaky that I made David double check my part of the form, because I was sure that I’d gotten something wrong.And then, there was a moment where it was really bittersweet. We got our number, and all I could think of was this wedding. I stood in line, feeling on top of the world, and then realized that there was a huge chunk of our community, and many of our nearest and dearest who didn’t have the right to stand in the line at the county clerks office, who didn’t get to be grinned at by the security guard. We got our form, and I immediately asked David, “Have they changed the forms back after Prop 8?” It turned out they hadn’t. David and I each filled out our names, and then we had a choice to designate ourselves as bride and groom. We didn’t. It was a small protest, but it was the protest we had available to us. We will have a un-gendered marriage. And next time someone tells me “But you *have* to, you’re a BRIDE.” I can say with total honesty, “But I’m not actually a bride. I’m Person A.” And that feels really wonderful.