I went to my first gay wedding today.

I don't mean to make it sound like a stereotype, but it was fab-u-lous.

They had show-tunes, a bit of bawdy humor, a lot of laughter, and it was presided over by the most famous minister in San Francisco: Reverend Cecil Williams.

What does one wear to a gay wedding, you ask?

Pink! In fact, the grooms had requested that everyone wear pink. That request was a little problematic for me, because I'm a big burly man's man who does not own any pink clothing. So, I marched my candy ass down to Nordstrom last weekend and blinked nervously in the men's department until a saleswoman helpfully swooped down.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked.

"Yes, please," I replied, "I need a pink shirt and a matching tie."

"Ok, no problem..."

"It'sBecauseI'mGoingToAGayWedding!" I blurted out, both defending my manhood and demonstrating my San Francisco liberal street cred.

"Great," she said, in that patented non-judgmental Nordstrom way.

So, she hooked me up. And today I strolled down the street, to the neighborhood restaurant where the wedding and reception were taking place. A man sitting at a sidewalk table at a nearby cafe eyed me.

"Hey boss!" he called out, "You going to a wedding?"

"Yep!" I replied, walking past.

He turned to his table-mate and I heard him say, "Looks like pink is the wedding theme!"

"Actually, wearing pink was the required dress code," I stopped and explained.

His eyes grew wide.

"Really? Now, THAT'S a gay wedding!" he exclaimed

And so it was.