I had an inadvertent, awkward milestone a couple of weeks ago.

I turned in to my employer a completed one-page, company-composed Statement of Domestic Partnership. I provided some basic supporting documentation to that effect, had someone in the HR department notarize it, file it, and tell me cheerfully that I was all set. I then turned around and walked silently to my office.

And I felt kinda giddy. I craved the taste of punch and white cake. I felt around inside my head to get a handle on what I was feeling. Then I grabbed it.

I think maybe I just got married.

My giddiness segued into thoughtfulness. Should I have brought him to work with me? Maybe put on a tie? Took a picture of her as she emblazoned the single white sheet of paper, printed a day earlier off the printer in the mail room, with her newly-delivered notary seal? (It was her first time notarizing a document!)

Of course not. That was all silly. Silly, silly thoughts.

However, what I experienced was about as close as I was going to get from the State of Georgia. And as silly as my daydream was, the reality seems much sillier to me.

It’s not too often that political realities intersect with the real things that happen in my life in a palpable way. Aside from my enormous reliance on the infrastructure built by government, I live my own life, aware of yet removed from the restrictions, allowances, and benefits that are provided. So this experience was an odd, funny, (and irritating, once I thought about it) interlude in my workday.

It’s not every day you arrive at work and get married.