Sarah and I got married on a hot Saturday Night in September. It was Labor Day weekend. It was also Southern Decadence weekend. Southern Decadence, in case you're wondering, is a giant, gay celebration hosted by our fair city, sometimes described as Gay Mardi Gras (which is kind of funny since regular Mardi Gras gets pretty darn gay).
The wedding was a blast. Family and friends came from all over the country. We danced like fools late into the evening, sweating buckets (one of the highlights was seeing Annou shake it to N.W.A). At the end of the night Sarah and I drove away in our little Honda Civic, trailing dozens of white streamers, "Just Married" scrawled in giant letters all over the car.
The next day was very relaxed. We met up with everyone. People were tired and happy. Some folks were sticking around for a couple of days. Others were heading home. In the afternoon I drove our friend, Johnny, to a nearby hotel where he could catch the airport shuttle bus.
The hotel was particularly busy with dozens of gay men coming and going. As I pulled up to the curb to drop Johnny off, a buzz went threw the crowd, and everyone turned towards us. Suddenly they were all smiling, waving, hollering, and applauding. For a moment our groggy brains couldn't understand what was happening. Then the explanation dawned on us. Ah.
We smiled and waved back. Then I bid my darling Johnny adieu.