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.