Here Comes the Broom

I woke in a better place this morning than I have in a long time. I bet I'm the first person who ever said that about Toledo, Ohio.

Until yesterday, I knew nobody here, and was just accompanying a friend to a lesbian wedding. Cocktail parties with people I know are intimidating enough; a weekend's worth of festivities with folks I've never met seemed a bit daunting. But curiosity got the best of me, and yes, I'll admit, the thought did cross my mind that I'd find a nice girl for myself and spend the rest of my life batting for the other team.

"Can't you just say you're going to a wedding?" my daughter finally asked me the other day. No, I decided, though I tried my best to refrain from saying anything further to her about it. It would be like going to an Episcopalian bar mitzvah and omitting the Episcopalian part. Two women tying the knot in a state where their union isn't even recognized is noteworthy; it's a detail that bears mention.

The rehearsal dinner was last night. Though both of the betrothed refer to each other as "my bride," it was clearly to be a union of a lipstick style lesbian and, well, the lesbian who wears the pants. (She actually was wearing pants, which helped to eliminate any confusion.) The room was filled with forward thinking liberal Jews of all ages, all of us behaving as if we hadn't, only hours earlier, joked about whether the menu would include tuna tacos or baked clams. We behaved as if there was nothing, well, fishy, about the whole affair. We pretended not to notice the eight hundred pound gorilla in the room.

The truth is, though, when there's an eight hundred pound gorilla in the room (and no quiet, dignified, and proper Episcopalians to keep everyone in line), the gorilla gets noticed, addressed, and, to everyone's relief and delight, embraced. Loving jokes peppered all the speeches. About the softball playing bride: She always slept in a bed filled with balls. We know that's no longer the case. About the softer looking Jewish bride: Match dot com Match dot com find me a goy; as long as it's not a boy. Grandmothers in their eighties toddled up to the mike together to toast the couple with as much genuine, unadulterated love and acceptance as I've ever seen. The mothers of the brides spoke frankly of the arduous journey this has been, and how this dinner with all their friends and family (oh, yes, and me) was a final hurdle. This was a night about a young couple in love, celebrated and supported by people who love them. If I were a betting woman, I'd say this marriage is going to be a keeper.

Tonight promises to be a blast. Will they both wear white dresses? Who cares. Will the kiss be chaste, or will they test our liberal limits and do a long tonsil tickler? Who cares. The jokes might still seep through, no matter how hard we try to keep our fingers in the dike (sorry, it had to be said), but I have a feeling tonight is going to be everything a wedding should be. And then some.