Honey came to visit me at work this afternoon, a little while before a couple of women peddling Aflac insurance arrived. One of the ladies, a tall blonde, kept looking at me with an air of familiarity. After answering a barrage of questions in an attempt to determine where our lives might have previously intersected – like where I graduated from and worked previously – she inquired if I am married.
Taken aback, I paused for a second before saying, “Partnered.” She seemed a little confused, so I reached over and patted Honey on the knee as I said, “This is my partner.” Considering I shocked myself with that statement, I can’t begin to imagine what she must have thought.
I despise being asked about my marital status. Calling it a “sore subject” would be severely underestimating how I feel about it. I am just as committed to my relationship as any other married person, and I refuse to label myself as single or unmarried just because the government doesn’t recognize my union. Yet, technically, I cannot claim to be married. Until we receive some form of legal recognition of our relationship, we are in limbo and completely disregarded by most of society.
We never figured out why we looked so familiar to one another, but further conversation revealed her to be socially conservative. I hope my honesty gave her some food for thought, but that’s probably being a little overly optimistic.