Still, the marriage problem came first: Thursday, I found myself waiting outside an English registration desk with confetti and rice that I had dyed with food coloring. It was far too unusual and surreal to activate these emotional brain areas associated with marriage: to begin with, most of us weren’t allowed to.
Everyone was masked, except the bride and groom, in one of those loopholes that were flipped from the rules – the masks inside – with no reference to the reality of we all going straight to the pub afterwards. The happy couple emerged. They’ve been together for so long, by the way, that neither of us had to tell our kids that they weren’t invited, as they all thought this wedding was years ago. A man passing by in a British gas van honked so gleefully I would consider changing my energy supplier. Then, wham, everyone was crying.
This turn of events was so unexpected that no one had a tissue. Was it all the repressed emotion of 2020, the cloud of all denied normality, the marriages that could have been denied? Actually no; it’s just a very moving thing, two people who love each other enough to tell their friends, plus an official. It doesn’t matter if you are only 15.