It’s been interesting to know the man I’m going to marry through his shape-shifting (more to come). Every now and then I find myself daydreaming of the inevitable– we will get married some day. It will be small, cute, and inexpensive. How do I know that I’ll only spend teensy bits of money on this “oh-so-fabulous” day? I know because I have several years to plan–and with my slightly obsessive nature, it will be so DIY that hipsters all over the planet will spontaneously combust. Despite what we might want (because if we could elope right now, we probably would have), Noah and I have to wait for the doofus totter-heads in South Carolina to get their trans shit straight. Because of this blessedly conservative state, Noah ( transitioning ftm) will be stuck with a fuck-load of paperwork that he’ll get to haul around with him for the rest of his life. What does he get when he’s jumped through all of the hoops of fire? A teensy little card stapled to his birth certificate saying “whoop, you’re a boy now!” Liberals may feel the need to facepalm. We’ll wait.
Noah is still pre-op, though he passes quite well now due to his dedication to the gym and a horrible squeezy wife beater thing that he has to wear under his clothes. It makes him more comfortable, but it’s a bitch to get on and off of him. South Carolina requires him to go through a year of therapy before making any movement in the direction of his true gender. Of course I am appalled at the level of discomfort he has to feel while tiptoeing over SC’s homophobic and gender-biased legal land mines, however, it will give me time to:
1) Lower the cost of the whole schindig
2) Keep my extended family members in a constant sweat over whether or not I’ll ever get married and have babies like a civilized Baptist. (I’m not religious.)
3) Win a bet that’s been running for approximately eight years between me and my best friend . Whomever finds themselves married first has to buy the other a pair of divine shoes to wear to the loser’s wedding. Leslie has been dating her Boy for eight months or so. It’s pretty apparent that certain questions are on their way. And now, due to Noah’s ordeal, I can put off getting hitched just long enough to get fabulous kicks. Here’s some shoe porn for you.
Here are some darling pictures (that I’ve gleaned off of the interwebs):