I never said we were normal.
We got married today. Again.
In fact, I got married today, to the same woman I was married to yesterday, and I wasn't even there.
To make a long story in no noticeable way shorter, our local town hall decided they didn't like the look of the marriage certificate we returned from Louisiana with, and unless we had it authenticated (again) by the governor over there, it would not be recognised as valid here in Holland.
Being far too busy watching television and eroding each others groins, we never bothered. A married couple, living in sin.
The arrival into the world of spawn of people like us needs to follow the same administrative process as that of any old street tramp. Basically, Little Fitz needs to be registered at the town hall soon after (s)he rips ET a new one.
This is a task that is usually left to the father of the newborn, usually because the mother is too lazy sleeping off losing 25 lbs in fifteen minutes through a gaping bloody hole in her lower body.
I, as the father (all laboratory mix-ups aside) shall perform this fateful duty.
This is where they get us. If I were not married to the mother of the child I am registering, (which I am, but I'm not,) I could not register the birth in the normal manner. There would be Dutch disclaimers, affidavits, declarations, and carbon copy forms in duplicate to be furnished if we were not married.
So, here we are, 2 FedEx letters, 20 US dollars, one confused Louisiana governor, and four short years later, we are married in the eyes of the Dutch.
ET is quite smug at the concept of trapping me twice, but two can play that game.
For tonight -is our wedding night!