On Tuesday, Andrea, my mom, a few of our dear friends, and I entered a dingy county office and asked to get married. The clerk reviewed our counseling certificate, put slashes beside “bride’s name” and “groom’s name” on our form and scribbled “spouse” above the lines. We signed, smiling. The clerk led us into “the wedding room” and we repeated our vows. And then, we were married. We kissed. We hugged our friends and family. And then we walked down the street and got a cafecito, like married Miamians do.
[email protected] / January 9, 2015