Fifty States of I Do

On this Valentine’s Day I wish to invite you to my dubiously legal quest for interstate matrimony.

Remember that giddy, slightly unhinged feeling when you first get married, where every grand gesture seems perfectly reasonable? For my wife and me that manifested as a truly brilliant idea: getting legally married in all fifty states.

Yes, you read that right. Not just a cute vow renewal with a scenic backdrop. We envisioned a glorious collection of fifty official marriage certificates, each a testament to our enduring love … and our questionable grasp of legal statutes. Think of the scrapbook! The wall decor! The sheer bragging rights at awkward family gatherings!

Our initial enthusiasm was infectious. We pictured ourselves hopping from state to state, charming local clerks, maybe even getting a bulk discount on marriage licenses. We imagined a reality TV show: “Fifty States of I Do!”

Then, reality, that pesky buzzkill, decided to crash our love-fueled party. Specifically, the cold, hard truth of bigamy laws.

Now, for those blissfully unaware, bigamy is a no-no. Like, a seriously illegal no-no. Every single state in this star-spangled land frowns upon the act of marrying someone while already hitched to another. And here’s the kicker: attempting to snag a second marriage license while already legally bound to someone else? Yep, that’s bigamy too. Even if that “someone else” is the very same person you’re trying to double, triple or in our case, quintuple-deca-tuple-plus-some-more-uple marry.

The sheer absurdity of it all struck us like a rogue wedding cake hurled by a disgruntled justice of the peace. We weren’t trying to pull a fast one, create a harem of geographically diverse spouses or exploit some bizarre loophole in interstate romance. We just thought it would be fun! Subversively fun, even!

As it turns out, “fun” and “felony” aren’t that far apart.

To be clear, we weren’t cheating. We weren’t even remarrying. We were legally entangled together, the same two people, just in a very geographically diverse way. But the law doesn’t care. To the bureaucratic beast, it’s still one marriage per customer — no secondsies, even if it’s just to collect a pretty certificate with a different state seal.

Imagine trying to explain this to a judge. “Your Honor, we weren’t trying to commit a crime of passion, more like a crime of extreme enthusiasm for paperwork.” I can already see the raised eyebrows and the distinct lack of laughter.

And then there are the logistical nightmares to consider. Drivers’ licenses? Filing taxes? Health insurance? What happens if we ever, heaven forbid, had to get divorced? Would we need fifty separate legal proceedings? The headache alone was enough to make us reconsider our ambitious marital tour. Or maybe just stay married the normal way, like people who don’t treat matrimony as a collectible hobby.

So, alas, our dream of a fifty-state marriage certificate collection remains just that, a dream. Our scrapbook will have to make do with photos of us awkwardly posing near state lines. Our walls will remain tragically devoid of the sheer volume of “I do” documentation we envisioned. And our bragging rights? Well, we can still claim we had a truly unique (and thankfully, unrealized) marital ambition.

Our very first court clerk offered us some alternatives:

• Vow renewals with clergy (a lovely sentiment, but disappointingly low in notarized documents)
• Symbolic ceremonies (cute, but what fun is it without the snazzy certificate?)
• Just crashing other people’s weddings and pretending they’re ours (sure, the cake is free, but the lack of a vellum certificate would make the whole thing feel like a participation trophy)

Sadly, that’s just a photo op without traction. It has no weight when compared to a vellum certificate with a state seal. The absurdity struck us like a county clerk slamming a ‘DENIED’ stamp on our romantic dreams. We don’t want to prove that we love each other. We just want the certificates.

So our quest for a fifty-state matrimony has been officially postponed, indefinitely, by the combined forces of common sense and criminal law. It turns out love may be boundless, but marriage licenses are not.

We’ve decided to remain happily, boringly and legally married in exactly one state. Our grand tour of county clerks will stay firmly in the realm of imagination, alongside other impractical dreams like learning French and organizing the garage.

One marriage certificate will have to do. Apparently, even romance has a per-customer limit. We learned an important lesson: true love doesn’t need fifty certificates, but we still maintain that fifty would have looked amazing on the wall.

It turns out, the most romantic words in the English language aren’t “I do” after all. They’re “Application Approved”. We still wish matrimony came with better interstate souvenirs.