Bad Habits - What a pisser - March 25 2004
Marriage is a gay old time
I wouldn't have peed at my gay brother's wedding. Not like I did at my straight brother's. Even though there'd likely have been more people cheering me on as they'd have seen a potential fag-hag to adopt.
It's not unusual in South Carolina for a relative to be peeing outdoors at any given moment, no matter what the occasion or amount of plumbing available. In fact, some special occasions cry out for a sprinkle in the woods.
The timing was off at my straight brother's wedding, though. It was an outdoor wedding to begin with, held at a lovely seaside plantation. So it was an easy leap to visit Mother Nature on her own turf. Imagine my surprise when I looked up midstream to see most of the guests headed toward their cars — and toward me as I peed in the parking lot.
My gay brother was supposed to be the lookout, but he'd fallen into the bushes some yards away looking for the lit cigarette he'd dropped. Certainly members of my family have been known to set yards on fire — accidentally, of course — but it's always been their own yards. There's a sense, however tiny, of decorum in the family. Setting your own yard on fire is one thing. Setting rental property on fire is entering an entirely new arena. So, there was my brother, flapping around in the bushes, teetering on the brink of shame.
And that's why people may have seen me in half-glory at my straight brother's wedding. And it was partially my gay brother's fault. So, I don't think that's why he didn't invite me to his wedding. I mean, I couldn't very well pee outside at his wedding if he wasn't going to act as lookout, which I don't think he'd have time for at his own ceremony. But mainly I didn't get to pee at his wedding because I wasn't invited. And if the gold rings as big as cowbells that he and his partner sport are any indication, there clearly was a ceremony.
Which upsets me, not because I wasn't invited, but because it means it was a small, quiet ceremony. And that's just wrong for my big, gaudy brother. The man lives for vacations in Vegas. He tricks out his miniature poodle in so many Liberace-designed rhinestone collars that the dog looks like a pimp. Now he's trying to do the same to my 4-month-old baby. He showed up recently with a Hawaiian-print bathing suit for her, replete with plastic hula skirt.
As an unmarried woman, this upsets me. Not the hula skirt — I love that. But gay marriage. I'm officially coming out against it as it just puts more pressure on me. This is the ammunition my mother has been waiting for. "What's the matter with you?" she asks me, "Marriage is in. Even the gays want to do it now." So, thanks, assholes.
I'm sure the human rights aspect of this conundrum will be resolved. But it's clear who the real victims are in this story: heterosexual brides and single straight women. The average wedding now costs $20,000. Throw gay men into the mix and the ante will be upped big-time. The average could easily quadruple. What with the velvet ropes and doorman, disco balls and fog machines — anything short of glitter and feathers will keep you on the outside. As if mothers and mothers-in-law weren't enough for brides to deal with, soon they'll have to worry about their weddings being fabulous enough.
As a recently Internet-ordained woman of the cloth, all I can say is I'll marry anyone ... for a very large sum of money. Right? Wrong? I'll let God sort that out later. At the moment, I've got a kid to feed.
I'll call it whatever you want — Married, Permanent Personal Partner, Bonded Boy Toys. I'll even marry nature's true abomination, the non-procreating Cat Couple: those witty, urbane hetero couples brought together by a love of felines and loathing of children.
And I swear on the Internet Bible that I won't pee in the parking lot at your ceremony.