I Did It. I Bit the Dust.

And by doing it, I mean I got married. And by dust, I'm referring to what is now inside my skull where my brain used to reside. Not because of the wedding. Because of the extra day of traveling because OF COURSE AMERICAN AIRLINES CANCELLED OUR FLIGHT HOME. Kind of one last kick in the ass to the new bride and groom, who had already made a pact never to use them again. More about that later.

Candy must tackle the wedding story in small bites. Let us begin with the day before we left for Indiana.

Remember how I said I thought I had sold my house? As it turned out, the house did sell, which meant that in addition to the wedding details, I had much faxing and signing and overnight mailing of power-of-attorney forms and seeking out notary publics, etc. And there were many phone calls (some in airports, some while driving, some while slapping together the final wedding stuff) back and forth with the realtor and the attorney so I could pull that mortgage albatross from around my feeble bridal neck. In lieu of a bouquet I would be able to toss my bothersome house payment into the wind. Or into that special dark abyss of Things I Never Have to Think About Again. Even if I did lose several thousand bucks on the house. It's someone else's poor homely prom date now.

On Wednesday, June 20th, Scott and I marched up the stairs of the Clay County Indiana courthouse to get our marriage license. We were giddy and acting like idiots and then we tried to somewhat compose ourselves so we wouldn't be thrown out for suspected drunkenness. We sat in the County Clerk's office and answered the questions of a polite heavily made-up woman who was typing the answers on her clickety-clack keyboard.

After the usual name/address/blah blah she got to some more pointed questions:

"Scott, have you ever in the past been judged unsound of mind?"

We could not contain ourselves. We howled. Like coyotes. The woman had a bored half-smile on her face that said she had encountered this reaction more times than there are "whatevers" in a junior high lunch hour.

"No," he said.

Very immature tittering continued on our side of the desk.

Next question:

"Are the two of you related any more closely than second cousins?"

That was the end of us and any attempt we were making at composure. And anyhow, without inbreeding, the population of Indiana would have dwindled to that of a bowling league by now.

She ended the question and answer with her final punch:

"Do you know about AIDS and how it is transmitted sexually?"

Her half-smile faded completely when we asked if a demonstration was available.

The strangest question in the bunch was:

"Do you live in the city or the country?"

We have no idea, still, what that was about. Unless it was some arcane legality left on the books from the 1800s. Like the ones that say it's illegal to eat corn on the cob on a Sunday at midnight. Or to wear a top hat while beating your donkey. At least those make sense.

More details tomorrow.