Wedding Bitters

The very first thing I will have to say is that this post has nothing at all whatsoever to do with the weekend wedding of my dear friend Nathalie. The ceremony was nice, the reception fun, Nathalie radiant. I have nothing but joy for Nathalie and Patrick, and wish them long lives filled with happiness. If that sounds a little "the lady doth protest too much", well suck on it: I'm allowed to effuse real human feeling from time to time, and you're just going to have to deal with it. So. That having been said, let me come to what the post actually IS about.

Friday morning, some of the staff had a wedding shower in the library for two of our staff members who are getting married. Not to each other, though. However, I will say that I derived a great amount of amusement from the fact that the wedding cake said "Congratulations Amy and Heather", because let me tell you it damn sure DID look they were marrying each other. I had to take pictures of course, because apparently no one else is capable of pressing a silver button while holding still to look at something. That sort of put the pinprick into my bubble of inner laughter. Because, you see, the thought that occurred to me as I clicked away was "I will never get something similar to this from the staff. I'm a faggot. Faggots can't get married. Faggots don't deserve nice things. Faggots should not be anywhere near children but instead should be locked up and 'cured'. I have to live my life in secret because of their hate and ignorance." Yeah, like the title says: bitter. It really started a whole interior shit storm that I wasn't really prepared for. I mean, I had to put in for a wedding gift for these two, one of whom I don't even really like, but what am I going to get back from this? Not a goddam thing. I looked around and saw that I was the only Y-chromosome bearer: it was a total taco-party, to borrow a paraphrase. And here I was, the queer, taking little pictures, supposedly oozing syrup of wahoo from every pore over the fact that I was just on the outer cusp of the radiance of the pageantry... that I am not able to have. Just a drone, a bee to hover around the queens, and be tossed aside when my usefulness is done. Remember the title: bitter. So, I was in kind of a shitty mood for most of that morning. But then, I got over it, because I knew that I was going to be with my friends soon, that they loved me (as I love them), that they want me to be happy (as I want them to be), and they accept me (god knows why).