A few years ago I was one of the Colorado Voices writers in the Denver Post. It's an opportunity for "regular" people to write op-ed pieces. One of the essays I wrote was called "Don't Defend My Marriage" and it was about the fact that the arguments against gay marriage are the same old ones they used against interracial marriages not so far back in the day. (As I noted in my essay Colorado's anti-miscegenation laws weren't repealed until 1957...six years after my house was built.)
As you might imagine, I got emails. Boy did I get emails! My favorite was from someone who was apoplectic about the idea that allowing same-sex folks to marry would not only lead to man-and-beast nuptials, but where would it end?! he or she wondered. "Why don't I just marry my couch! What would you think of that?!"
Hubby had the best response. In his deep seductive voice he asked, "Is it a leather couch?" We laughed. A lot. But now this guy makes me realize that perhaps my e-mailer was on to something. Perhaps I reacted too quickly. So I've thought long and hard about this and I want to note for the record that what goes on in the privacy of someone's house between consenting human adults and pieces of furniture is none of my business. And if the human adult and the picnic table should decide to get married one day, who am I to stand in their way?