“Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.”
~Matt Groening, Life in Hell
To be fair, the title of this post really should be “How My Dog’s Penis Forced Me to Elope.” (But that probably wouldn’t be quite clickbaity enough.) As a matter of precision, nobody forced me to get married. My partner J and I decided some months ago, after nearly 5 years together, that it was time to do the thing. J doesn’t really care about weddings…one of his many fine qualities; a quality that I am sorry to admit I don’t share. I absolutely was pumped about the pageantry, the dancing, and especially the only opportunity I would ever get to parade down an aisle to the “Grand Finale” from Edward Scissorhands wearing a veil, a fancy Mucha-style headdress, and a mint green (never white; horrors!) filmy gown with a long train covered in crawling, iridescent, ombré beetles and butterflies. Finally, I had an excuse. And I would get to invite the people I love to all be in a room at once – bonus! (Since moving to Pittsburgh 4 years ago, my opportunities to visit friends have been few and far between.)