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10/21/2009
Your invitation is in the mail
This morning's breakfast conversation:
Charlie: When Ben and I are grown men, we'll still be brothers. But we won't live in the same house.
Julie, thinking, I hope not, because that'll mean both of you are in prison: You could live in the same house if you wanted.
C.: No! I need a lady! To be my spouse! It has to be a lady. Men are spouses with ladies.
J.: Well, actually, some men are spouses with other men. So you don't have to have a lady if you don't want to. In fact, you don't have to —
C., brightening appreciably: Oh! Well, then, I will have a man for a spouse.
J.: — have a spouse at all. Oh. Huh. Got anyone in mind?
C.: Yes! M.! He will be my spouse!
J., faintly, considering M.'s flair for mayhem, imagining a ruined Christmas 20 years down the road when a drunk and angry M. finally tells poor Charlie that Santa is a filthy fucking lie: Hmmm.
C.: And, Mama, you can come to the wedding!
J.: Thanks. I'd love to.
C.: You will love it! M. and I will wear matching outfits!
In twin Elmo underpants or not, in malicious Santa-ruining and out, I believe every preschooler should have the right to marry the incorrigible rapscallion he loves. Don't you think so?
