marriage license in hand

The woman at the marriage license office at the court house was, well, let's say, less than enthusiastic to be at work.  I would think that being surrounded by blossoming love on the daily would keep one's thoughts positive.  Even if a life is sad and lonely, it could give it a glimmer of hope that love does still exist in this dark world.  Not for this lady.  Oh no.  This desk job, which included talking to couples with heart bubbles and unicorns floating above their heads, was taking her soul into the deep, dark, pits of dispair.  I wanted to yell, I AM GETTING MY MARRIAGE LICENSE.  The least you could give me is a, "Congrats," or "Hi, how are you?"    

Instead, we were welcomed with a big sign that read, "$50 CASH ONLY," a messy desk covered with Twinkie wrappers, and a Tootsie Roll from last Halloween.  Adam handed over the cash.  I, naturally, ate the Tootsie Roll, and we got down to business.

With a dead pan voice, she asked us the normal questions and filled in the information on the form, keeping her eyes on the computer screen the whole time.  She printed the form for us to look over for any mistakes.   Apparently, when my great-great-great grandchildren look up my marriage license in the record books, they will discover that I was a tech style designer.  TECH STYLE DESIGNER.  My actual profession is Textile Designer.  TEXTILE.  NOT TECH STYLE.  What the hell would a Tech Style Designer even do??    jeez.  

We both signed the paper and off we went*.  Of course, this once in a lifetime experience must be documented by, A) jumping, and B) me embarrassing Adam by jumping up and down in public.  

He posed in front of the courthouse sign...looking all sexy in his fancy work clothes. 

Countdown is at 26 days.

*with a handful of tootsies to stash in my purse for later