I Thought I Did

On the day I said I do I really did. I promised Mr. J that I'd never say the words again.

That was before I lost our marriage license.

"How do you lose a marriage license?"

"I have no idea. I swear it was in this folder." I shuffled, huffing and puffing, wishing he'd stop making that annoying noise in his throat, the one that said, I would never lose a marriage license because I am the smartest man ever. Granted, I also can't find a trash can nor avoid peeing all over the toilet seat because my hands are apparently broken as I never lift it before evacuating my elephant bladder, but a marriage license? Who would be so dumb?

It is highly unlikely I would've ever known that our marriage license was missing had the county we live in not passed a new ordinance. An ordinance that is highly irritating. An ordinance that requires that my husband and I prove we are married each time we purchase real estate since I did not take his last name.

"We have to close on this house!"

I didn't even respond as I was ready to spear him with my malcontent and instead found the number for a friend who works in title, "Help me. Make this go away."

"Just get a copy of your marriage license. I know someone over at the county and can get it for you tomorrow."

"We got married in Jamaica. It takes eight weeks. We have to close in three days."

"Oh."

"Well, if you can't prove you're married you have to pay the extra transfer tax."

"Yay, tax! I'll pay tax!"

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

I told Mr. J. We paid the tax, we bought the house and then he very quietly asked, "Little, I don't want to do this each time we want to buy a rental property. Could you please change your name?"

I didn't think twice, "Of course. I'll order a copy of the license and take care of it."

"Thanks, Little." He said it very politely, very sweetly as if it meant the entire world to him. Or $500 - $1000 per transaction.

Whatever.

Changing my name was not something I'd ever rushed to do. My name is mine. Who I am. I'd taken my previous husband's last names. I'd always felt like a possession and shortly thereafter, completely possessed. Mr. J never asked, never even suggested I consider his last name. He even joked that when I found a job that paid me a million per year he would change his last name to Schneider.

So when he asked me if I would I knew in my bones that it was what I should do. Because of taxes? No. Because I love him and I don't feel possessed.

Then we got hung up with the Jamaican Registrar. They can't find our license either. Since July.

"What do we do?"

"I have no idea. I gave them the name of the minister, the date, the resort, everything. They said he must have filed it under a different township. They're looking, but didn't seem all that upset for us."

"What if they can't find it?"

"Well, I guess I will forever be a Schneider and we'll be paying a lot of tax."

"Should we get married again?"

"We might have to. I've read about this. I will need another diamond."

"Well, if we're not married then I want all your anniversary presents back."

"What anniversary presents? You still haven't given me a card from year two or three."

We laughed and suddenly I realized that at 33 my child may be born out of wedlock, "What time is it? I have to call my dad and tell him that I'm still living in sin!"

"Oh, Little."

As I joke, I am somewhat sad. The only man I should've ever been given away to now sits down the couch from me eating stinky string cheese and I'm not sure when we'll get to share a name.

Hopefully soon.

We want to raise our little bastard up right.