Being Married By A Dwarf Elvis Impersonator Is A Right Everyone Should Enjoy

I’ve been pretty busy lately. Amid shooting and editing porn, revamping old sites and planning a new one, I’ve also been organising a trip to the USA. After years of saying I was going to do it, I finally splurged and booked plane tickets, planning on enjoying the States in summer.

While my main objective was to turn 39 in the sunshine for once in my life (July winter birthdays suck in Australia) I also decided that I absolutely must get married in Las Vegas. Or, to be precise, re-married. And by Elvis, if at all possible. While wearing pirate costumes. Like you do.

Because renewing our wedding vows in a ridiculously gaudy city in the craziest way possible sounded like the perfect way to affirm the glory and sanctity of my official relationship, you know?

And then I discovered that I could get married by Mighty Mike, a professional Elvis impersonator, qualified minister and all-round entertainer who is also a little person. And suddenly the Las Vegas Elvis Pirate Marriage plan got stepped up by about sixteen degrees of awesome. So I’m going to see what I can do.

Now, getting married at Las Vegas is somewhat traditional in a way. Thousands of couples do it every year, either by meticulously planning it in advance or by drinking sixteen marheritas and staggering off to the nearest Holy Drive-Thru Chapel to pledge their love to whatsisname, what they met at the craps table. It’s a sacred and holy thing, the Las Vegas Wedding, and I want to be a part of that. It’s also fucking insane, and I want that too.

Being re-married in Las Vegas by a dwarf Elvis impersonator while wearing pirate outfits seems to suit our marriage. Because it’s traditional and it’s also not traditional, in the nicest possible way. Allow me to explain.

I’ve been in a relationship with my lovely spouse since I was sixteen. He was my first boyfriend. Yes, you know what that implies. We had a wonderful teen romance and it kept going and going, through college and first jobs and growing up. Because we were just hooked on each other and didn’t want anyone else. We shared the same ideals, the same sense of humour, the same taste in music, the same disdain for fashion or keeping up with the Joneses. In short, we just liked hanging out together and couldn’t see any reason not to be together. We were in love.

We still are.

Early on we discussed marriage and decided it wasn’t necessary. Expensive, official, traditional… why bother? We were happy together and that was enough.

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In the end, though, we caved.

I remember the day I asked my husband to marry me. We’d been together for five years. We were on holiday after I’d finally finished four years of university. And we were watching a trashy wedding special on Rikki Lake, complete with size 26 brides in full meringue marrying someone they’d met just last week. And I said: “You know, it might be fun to get married. What do you reckon?”

After about a minute my then-boyfriend said “OK, why not?”

It really was as brainless as that. What can I say? We were young and stupid and ready to do anything that sounded like it might be a blast. Thus, we went into wedding planning mode. I bought the requisite bridal magazines, made lists of all the things I wasn’t going to do and basically set about planning the best party I could come up with, given a limited budget.

Because, for me, the party was one of the main reasons for getting married. I wanted to have a fantastic bash where all my friends and family got drunk, did the YMCA and had a fabulous time. Sure, it would have my personal stamp on it and I’d get to choose the decorations and music but ultimately, it was about having a brilliant, memorable party for all involved.

Of course, I did indulge in a little bit of Princess Fantasy in the process. Being The Bride was something I’d been brought up to aspire to. It’s Your Day, the one time you get to be the centre of attention, adored as perfect and admired by all, a cellophane-wrapped moment of egotistical glory, a life-defining memory ready to be framed and cherished. It’s an alluring cultural meme that is difficult to escape and I know I was happy to bow to it because, quite frankly, being The Bride is fucking brilliant. Really. It’s one of the few times beyond childhood when you get to have everything you want, no questions asked (cash permitting). Want to paste a horn on a horse and be driven around town in a pumpkin-shaped carriage, eating molten chocolate straight from the fountain? Sure, why not, it’s your wedding day!

Did I mention I looked amazing? Because I did. I was rocking my Celtic-style sheath dress (which, I might add, I could get away with today). And my bridesmaids were gorgeous in purple and adorned by unobtainable Victorian-style ankle boots painted black because you just couldn’t buy those kinds of shoes in 1995. I’ll admit I went a little bit Bridezilla and wanted a certain fashion and Nothing Else Would Do. But the boots did look cool.

We got married by the river in the small town where I grew up. There was no mention of God in the ceremony. My dad walked me down the “aisle” because I knew that would make him happy. We took photos in the hollow tree where I used to hide as a child. The reception was at the local town hall where my parents had also had their reception in 1969. We didn’t bother with fancy main courses or ribbon-covered chairs. Instead we had a lot of booze, a live band and illegal fireworks at midnight.

We didn’t consummate the marriage on the wedding night because we were just too damned tired. And besides, it’s not like we were virgins or anything. I mean, duh.

That was 17 years ago. Hmmm… Excuse me while I go pluck out my grey hairs and cry a little bit over my fading youth.

Anyway, we got traditionally married in a somewhat un-traditional way and our marriage has followed that pattern ever since.

So yeah, we have wedding rings and we’re officially married on government forms. I talk about “my husband” or “my spouse” (the latter because I find the term “spouse” to be both hilarious and endearing). We’re also sexually faithful because we agree that is what works for both of us.

BUT

* We don’t have any children. I had originally planned to reproduce but at 33 decided that I actually hated the idea and opted for a child-free life.

* We don’t sleep in the same bed. I am perfectly happy in my own room, thank you very much.

* We don’t fit into the stereotype of “working family paying off the mortgage.” We both work from home. We don’t have bosses and we don’t commute. I make porn. He’s the “housewife”.

* I didn’t change my name. I like my name, why would I change it? I didn’t want to take his name, it was too much like his mother’s and besides, do you know how many stupid forms you have to fill out, just for this one, unnecessary thing? We did talk about the idea of both changing our surnames to something suitable but could never agree on a name. The best we could do was “Wibbgibbler”, which is spectacular and worthy, I must admit, but in the end apathy won out and the forms defeated us.

So my relationship is a little bit “walk down the aisle” and a little bit “Viva Las Vegas Dwarf Elvis Wedding.” We are a couple in every sense of the word and yet we refuse to comply with stereotypes or cultural ideas about what marriage should be or how we should conduct our relationship.

And my point is this: my marriage is what every marriage should be.

Fuck tradition. Fuck expectations. Fuck “family values”. Marriage is about having a happy functional relationship that works for you. Marriage is about living your life however the fuck you want- and sharing that with someone else.

My husband and I love each other. I can’t wait to kiss my lovely spouse every morning and welcome the day with him. I love talking crap with him and giggling at silly jokes that we make up. I miss him when he’s not there. I want to go on adventures with him, see new sights, enjoy new experiences and I also want to just sit on the lounge and eat pizza and surf the internet or watch movies with him. I love that he cooks me dinner most nights. I think he’s gloriously sexy. I feel safe in his presence and incredibly lucky that he chooses to be with me. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him.

And if he was female, it wouldn’t be any different.

When I married him, I made him a part of my family and I became a part of his. We became FAMILY in the eyes of the law… and to our own relatives. I suspect my Dad is still coming to terms with the idea that the scruffy bloke I hooked up with is now legally his son-in-law. But too bad. That’s how it is. That’s part of what getting married is about. You choose someone and you say: yes, this person is the most important person in the world to me and we will make our lives together.

This thing that I’m lucky enough to have, I want it for everyone. Or, at least, everyone who wants it and is willing to go there. This is what marriage equality is about. Doesn’t matter who you are or who you love. If you want your relationship to be as permanent as possible and officially recognised, it should be.

And fuck all those “arguments” that what I have is somehow better than what queer people have. Nothing stands up to reason or logic. Nothing. “For Godsake hold your tongue and let me love,” said John Donne. Take your religious bigotry and your fear and your prejudice and your fake concern for “the children” and stick it up your arse. My marriage is legal, despite it not obeying many of the rules of “sanctity” and “society”. My marriage is good and fine and worthy and so is the marriage of my lesbian cousin (who, despite having a massively brilliant wedding in 2009, is officially still only part of an inferior “civil union”). Her relationship is no less than mine and I spit on the people who suggest it isn’t good enough.

I also want to add: marriage shouldn’t be the ultimate goal for everyone. It doesn’t suit everyone and that’s fine. It’s been said that “marriage is a mistake everyone should be entitled to make” and I agree. Certainly plenty of heterosexual couples try and fail at making it work, a testament to the idea that it is something of a flawed institution. People have perfectly happy relationships, casual or long-term, without the blessing of religion or government. It’s a personal choice and whatever anyone chooses to do with their life is OK.

To be honest I think that the government has no real business regulating relationships or who sleeps with who. There are plenty of ways to codify and tax economic households without taking sexuality or sexual relationships into account. I think polyamorous relationships should be recognised along with standard two-people marriage. If you can consensually come to an agreement to make something work, why not?

That said, long-term pair-bonding is still very common. Marriage is the official form of that. So while ever it’s on the law books, it should be available to everyone.

Especially while ever you can be married by a dwarf Elvis in Las Vegas with less than an hour’s notice.

And anyone who wants to argue about the “sanctity” of marriage is respectfully invited to my “wedding” in Las Vegas this June, where I’ll be celebrating the Holy glory of my relationship in a pirate corset.

* Note: I’ve used the word “dwarf” even though I should be using “little person”. This is because I’m being politically incorrect for comic effect. Mighty Mike uses the terms “midget” and “dwarf” on his site and I figured if he uses those terms it would be OK.