Call me Ishmael

I have to go to Martha’s Vineyard next month.

There’s this wedding of a certain inlaw scheduled, and, well, I guess I’ll suck it up and go spend the weekend on Martha’s Vineyard. It’s only a quick jump over the water from here, but hey. It’s still paradise. Weep for me.

But I hesitated for ages to send in my wee precious little rsvp card, because of a wee precious detail from my own recent wedding that I sort of failed to announce. Like, my last name. And, oh yeah, my husband’s last name. And I figured it probably wasn’t the most tactful way to announce our new nomenclature while simultaneously indicating our preference for filet mignon over pecan-encrusted chicken breast.

Lemme ‘splain.

No, is too much. Lemme sum up.

My man and I got married last October, after a deliciously prolonged eight-year courtship. Once we decided to throw a big old party — I mean solemnize our union — we discussed the available options for name-changing.

First of all, although we’re not fervently committed to having children, it’s certainly a possibility. And since we were in effect celebrating our new family unit, with or without children, we wanted to have the same last name. Take it as a given that we don’t care for saddling ourselves with a hyphenated last name. Take it also as given that the old system of the gal taking the guy’s name suited us not at all. Honestly, what fun is that?

So we decided that it would be best for both of us to change our last names. Wanting to keep it in the family, we dithered a while between my mother’s and his mother’s maiden names, both of which are very nice, serviceable family names. We decided on his mother’s maiden name.

And then we forgot to tell anybody.

Oh, sure, we told the IRS, Social Security, the Department of Motor Vehicles, our employers, and most of our friends, but none of our family. We, um, kind of forgot. Or were cowards, I guess you could say.

So here I sat, with a fey little rsvp card in my hand, knowing I must fill out the proper name in the space provided, and knowing equally well that my father-in-law was the one opening the envelope. So I waited. And dithered. And basically waited for the problem to go away.

And today he emailed me, and asked if we were coming or not, and I emailed him back, forgetting that my email signature would give the game away. He emailed me back, politely inquiring if that was our last name now, and indicating that it was no big deal, and he actually thought it was rather cool.

Then he asked me why we didn’t go with “Dread” as our last name, as this is Matt’s long-standing nickname, for obvious hair-related reasons.

Then he said that would have been much cooler, because it sounds more like we’re pirates.

I reminded him that the wedding is only one day before International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Avast! He replied.

Now, at his bidding, I am packing eyepatches, breeches, and tin-foil cutlasses for my little weekend on Martha’s Vineyard. That bridal brunch on Sunday (September 19th) is going to be an event to remember…

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