I have a Godson.
I refer to him as The Turkey.
Mostly because his little baby chub legs looked like you could break one off and have a Thanksgiving chomp.
He's walking now, so his legs are getting more svelte and are no longer appetizing.
Well, yesterday we celebrated his 2nd birthday party/Grey Cup party.
thank god we won ... i don't think i could handle another vancouver riot ...
As per The Turkey's momma's wish, I brought balloons galore to the party. They were a magnanimous hit with The Turkey! Now I know what I have to do every time I visit, so that I may be dubbed his absolute favourite tall person of all time!
Anyway, his Godfather was there too, and we are both so proud to be the Godparents of this little guy.
The Godfather offered to help me in with my balloons aplenty, as did The Turkey's brother that I refer to as The Porkchop. He also had little baby chub legs that looked like you could break off a piece and have it for Christmas Dinner, but now he's all tall and lanky. No meat on his teenage bones.
hey ... i know what you're thinking ... but i'm probably your favourite cannibal.
So, as we were heading to do the balloon deed, The Turkey's biological father ...
... and one of my best friends, who was best man at my wedding ...
... made a reference to The Turkey's baptism day when The Godfather and I had to repeat the vows from a pastor, then walk down the aisle, receiving beautiful smiles from the fellowship in their pews, to the back of the church.
But what these people didn't know about the newly dubbed Godparents, was that neither of us believe in God, nor follow religion, so it was completely awkward having to suffer through all the God talk just to be blessed as The Turkey's Godparents.
As we walked down the aisle, and all the good, God believers sang their song of praise, I leaned over to The Godfather and whispered, "I feel like we're in Whoville," which got a great laughing snort out of him.
Fast forward to yesterday, and there we were walking toward the door to get balloons, when The Turkey's bio-dad said, "There goes Andréa with the only man she'll ever say vows and walk down the aisle with."
I wanted to agree, but then I had this moment of thinking about Papi.
I married a butch.
A masculine woman.
The world's most perfect masculine woman, I may add.
One day, when I was clawing my way out of the catatonic tranny spell, my love had asked, "Do you think we could have a 2nd wedding, so that we can be pronounced man and wife?"
Of course, in response to the Tranny Terrorist, I quickly barked out, "No fucking way!!"
I mean really! I've had my perfect wedding with my perfect butch.
How on earth could I ever marry a 'male', and live to tell the tale?!?
But there was a memory in this that I had spoken to a friend about. I thought about how happy it would make my love to have his marriage certificate say male and female, instead of female and female.
I'm not rushing out to change our marriage certificate.
Hell fucking no!!!!
That bitch is mine!
But you never know. Through this whole journey, I have learned a lot about the word, 'never'.
Never say, "Never", or it will come back and bite you in the ass.
At this point, I'm loving being married to my husbutch, and that's where I am 'right now'.