Another spin-off from class - on vacations

This time, my irrelevant thoughts that formed after reading a fellow student's blog post.  A resort in South Carolina is offering its amenities to married or engaged couples only.

First, how exactly does one prove engagement?  I'm engaged - check my Facebook page.  ;-)

Secondly, this reminds me of when my fiance's friend was trying to book a commitment ceremony at Callaway, which was stupendously complicated due to lesbianism.  Honestly, they were paying customers, and what the hell else matters for a bidness?  In the end, that one fell through for personal reasons, so I don't know how Callaway would have resolved it.

Oddly, here in Oprah's least favorite county in Georgia, having a commitment ceremony at the local nature preserve doesn't seem to raise a single eyebrow.  We're booked for October, and we asked a hundred ways if they'd have any problems, and they don't.  Neither does the state park where my friends are getting themselves hitched in a non-state-sanctioned fashion this summer.

And finally, that brings me to my first honeymoon.   We showed up at the hotel, a heterosexual, just-married couple, and the desk-jockey wouldn't acknowledge my status, my presence, my existence.  I offended him, apparently.  Maybe because I looked like a young boy (skinny, buzz cut, men's jeans, boots, and a motorcycle jacket), but was that really his problem?  I'm tired of having to pull out my breasts to prove a point, and I wasn't up for it that day.  One asshat with one bad attitude showed me - a female-bodied person with white heterosexual privilege- what the other side looked like that night.  And it sucked and ruined my one honeymoon night.  But I knew a little bit more about what being queer felt like that day.

p.s.  I won't have the old pull-out-the-breasts trick soon.  If I need to take my daughter to the restroom, I'm going in.  If I need to take my stepson who is afraid someone will say something about his pink shirt, I'm going in with him, like I did the other day, poor kid.  Signs mean just about nothing to me.