I lived a very sheltered life in the suburbs when I was a kid. We all know that nobody in the suburbs does drugs, drinks or screws around. Right? I remember seeing some girls smoking cigarettes once in eighth grade. I ran home to report the scandal to my mother. I was like the breaking news bulletin that pops up on your screen just in time to interrupt Final Jeopardy!. I also didn't get that there were gay kids in my school. Sure, there was Anthony who in all of elementary school never showed any interest in hanging out with any boys at recess. My friend Sophia came from a strict Greek Orthodox family. They wouldn't let her invite boys to her parties, but Anthony was always there.
Also, apparently our entire high school girls' tennis team were lesbians. I was like thirty-two when somebody explained that to me. Sure there were girls who were tomboys in second grade. Most grew out of it around sixth grade. But a few still haven't. And I'm sure some of the girly girls in school are probably girly girls' girls now and, as usual, I haven't a clue.
So me being confused isn't something new. And now there are these two women who are professional basketball players in the WNBA. It's your typical "girl meets girl" story. Woman falls in love with woman. Woman gets engaged to woman. Woman and woman both get arrested for domestic violence against the other and, as a result, both women get suspended from WNBA. Woman then marries same woman a month later. Then, a very short time later, woman files for annulment from woman who announces she won't be playing basketball next season because she's pregnant.
(Please do not re-read. I had to re-read it and I already took enough Tylenol for all of us.)
I may be slow, but I do understand enough to know that this scenario should save a trip to the Maury show for a DNA paternity test. Her wife KNOWS she's not the father. Money can also be saved on a lie-detector test. Here's one woman who can't claim she wasn't cheating. It's like if my husband came home one day and saw all the leaves had been cleared out of the backyard and he grilled me on it.
"Lori, how'd you get all those leaves out of the backyard? You don't have a rake."
So ergo, we must assume that while my husband was out, I had found someone who does have a rake to come over and "rake my yard" as it were.
The thought of gay marriage has probably also been around forever, but of course I knew nothing about it until recently. The moral of the above story is: Everyone deserves the right to marry the wrong person. Everyone deserves the right to fall in love and crash and burn. Why should only straight people take vows that they have no intention of keeping? Why should only straight women feel the joy of having their beloved get drunk at the reception and fondle her bridesmaid during the chicken dance? Why should she be deprived of the joy of having a distant male cousin trying to get closer by getting more pokey than hokey?
Adam was the guy who did my mother's hair when I was ten or eleven. I distinctly remember having a crush on him and saying to my mother... "Oh if only Adam wasn't married."
To which she replied: "Lori, if Adam wasn't married... He wouldn't be married."
But now he can be. For better or worse.