July 1, 2012

My Big Fat Straight Marriage

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Written by: Kristi
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A Note to all the RCMP detectives who frequent The Gaily on a daily basis; this story is not about me. I am straight, uncool and have only been to Montreal once. For Space Camp when I was 12.

I remember hearing, prior to the passing of Bill C-38 in July 2005 and federal legislation allowing same-sex marriage, arguments from radical conservatives in my midst that the bill would cause a dramatic increase in marriage fraud. Some people seemed to have the idea that if the government endorsed same-sex marriages, friends, roomates and raquet-ball buddies were going to be getting married for the many rewards to be reaped from legal marriage.

They didn’t seem to understand that hetero marriage had that market cornered, and that marriage fraud from two opposite-sex friends was quite alive and well.

In 2004, straight and alternative Stacey was living in Montreal and maintained residence there. Mark, a flamboyant, raving gay boy who lived in Toronto, had been accepted at McGill University and was ecstatic to be moving there, and closer to his dear friend Stacey. In fact, they had decided to share a cute little flat in the Village.

Only there was one problem; one that out-of-province students pursing their higher education in Quebec would be intimately familiar with. The out-of-province tuition rates in Quebec are outrageously high compared to the rates afforded to local students. Mark wasn’t sure that he would be able to afford the tuition on his Dilbert-swathed office salary. Then he came up with a brilliant idea. He called Stacey and proposed. Marriage. She laughed and accepted jokingly. When Mark started providing her the details of applying for a marriage license the following week she realized he was serious. After a few minutes of convincing, and explaining the plan to commit marriage fraud so that Mark could get residency in Quebec and access those sweet, sweet local tuition rates, Stacey agreed.

You see, Stacey was very alternative, and the arrangement actually appealled to her sense of alt-ness. She would be the cool, straight wife of a fabulous gay man (who was already in a long-term relationship with another gay man). Awesome.

They went to get the license three weeks later, after Mark had officially moved to the Village. His boyfriend Luke went with them to be their witness. Stacey filled out the paperwork, taking occasional breaks to chastise Mark for demonstrating the fradulent nature of their union; he was sitting in Luke’s lap flirting and touching him suggestively in front of the beuraucrats (who were clearly aware of the situation, and probably pretty familiar with student marriage fraud). They got the license, ran to the courthouse and had a quickie marriage ceremony. The bride wore a denim skirt she had made herself out of three pairs of jeans. The groom wore Dolce. They wed, they kissed and they went out for their wedding brunch at Denny’s.

Seven years later, and long after Mark graduated from McGill and moved to New York to pursue graduate studies at Columbia and Stacey returned to her home town on the other side of the country to open a flower shop, they are still married. Mark had promised to pay for the divorce, since he was the one to reap the majority of the benefits of the marriage. Though always the wallflower, Stacey has been hesitantly dipping her foot into the real heterosexual dating pool and realized a short time ago that she will likely want to marry a man she can share more than cosmos and sweaters with.

So last week Stacey began composing a very long and melodramatic letter to the courts requesting an annulment, claiming that her husband that she loved (true) and planned to be with forever (false) ran away with another man shortly after their nuptuals (sort of true; Mark slept over at Luke’s the night of his nuptuals, but was back for bagels and lox by noon the next day). She and her unlikely husband plan for a quickie divorce followed by an enormous and cheeky bash celebrating the successful end of their fraudulent marriage.

The bride will wear clunky maple bracelets, the groom will wear Armani, and both will wear shit-eating grins for having defrauded the government as a faux-hetero couple.

About the Author

|Sex & Relationships Writer| I am a 20-something straight divorcee with a dirty mind and a loud mouth. I work for a non-profit organization that can appreciate my mad writing and policy development skills despite my outrageous TMI outbursts. I'm a feminist, a mother, a techno-phile, an avid and shameless sex blogger. I'm most often seen having sex or hunched over a computer, writing about sex. Or eating...I like eating.



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  1. Best line. Ever. “For Space Camp when I was 12.”

    • Kristi

      Just further proof of my uncool straightness. Trust me. I have pictures. I had no boobs and a mushroom cut.

      • MAB

        Dude, space camp is the epitome of cool and don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. I wish I’d gotten to go to space camp when I was 12. I think I probably had a piano recital. Those were decidedly un-cool.

  2. Next best line ever: “I had no boobs and a mushroom cut.”

  3. Jeff

    Great read. I’ve often wondered what the best way to get “those sweet, sweet local tuition rates.”

    P.S. Back in 2007, I went in for a haircut, and the stylist told me my hair was the perfect length for a mushroom cut, so I let her do it and she only charged me for a child’s haircut.

  4. Rob

    If I had a Quebecoise friend who I got along well with I would have done the same thing! Certainly, I have two more years left at McGill, anyone interested? Jokes (though tempting as it is!)

  5. hehe. this is a cool idea! :(

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