I am not a Royal watcher. I don’t particularly give a damn about the royals one way or the other. And that counts both ways – I don’t give a damn about their happy-dappy shiny moments and I don’t give a damn about their disgraces or scandals. The only thing more boring than the random lives of the royals are the random lives of various Big Brother contestants and Katie bloody Price. Sadly, the media seems to believe I should care about all of these subjects to eye-achingly awful degree.
So, I was bored of all the hype about 5 seconds after it was announced and bemused by the people squeeing in abject glee. I’m not excited and I’m amazed at the number of people who seem to think I should be.
I’ll not be watching the Royal Wedding or any of the incessant coverage of it and not just because I’d rather sit in front of Beloved’s fish tank (which, as predicted, he has completely lost interest in. But I digress) and watch the pretty fishes swim around in circles for several hours instead. No, I won’t be watching the festivities not just because I don’t think I will ever be that bored, but also because the last thing I need is to see a country-wide het-fest to emphasise just how Other I am.Because that’s what marriages always say to me. Whenever I’m invited to one or see one or flick past one of those truly awful “Bridezilla crushes party guests” television programmes. See, I say I’m married, I refer to my marriage and I get tetchy when people deny my marriage. Except, of course, legally they’re right (as they loooove to tell me). Legally, I’m not married. Marriage is too special for the likes of me. Marriage needs to be protected from me.
Whether or not I could have this is being debated and fought over – it’s a battle we constantly have to fight to push and preserve. There are actually talks of official enquiries needed to see whether I am good enough to sully this precious straight state. There are organisations built entirely to prevent me and mine getting married. Huge world religions lose their shit at the idea of my getting married.
And we’re told that “it doesn’t matter” and “it’s not important” which is wonderful to hear when you see the whole damn country and substantial portions of the rest of the world jumping for glee over the marriage of 2 complete strangers. Not important? You don’t act like it’s not important. The media’s obsession doesn’t act like its not important. Watchers from around the world don’t act like it’s not important. The forces trying to STOP us getting married don’t act like it’s not important. Millions of brides and grooms around the country don’t act like it’s not important.
And of course, this whole grand shiny event could not happen if William were gay and Kate Middleton were Pete Middleton, as Renee has pointed out.
In fact, several of the guests to this glorious het-fest are leaders of nations that kill GBLT people for daring to exist (something that we’d normally call genocide, but that never seems to apply to us) so I’m pretty sure these honoured guests there to witness the glory of heterosexual love would not be there if it were same-sex love on display.
And of course the ceremony is being presided over by the Archbishop of Canterbury – a man whose church has fought tooth and nail against our rights and battle for equality in this country. Even now he is releasing trite little films about the “hopefulness” and “generosity” or marriage. But only if you’re straight, right Rowan?
Do I sound bitter? Probably. I don’t pretend not to be. I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to get my relationship tolerate and don’t think acceptance will come in my lifetime. To see a grand ol’ hetfest consume the country (and beyond) and be told I should be interested? To be told I should be gleeful and excited about it? That I should be happy and shiny about the wonderful thing that I can’t have, I don’t deserve and that I would sully if I had it? No, that burns that does
So enjoy the wedding, I’m going to concentrate on watching them fishies. Watching them swim in their iridescent circles and vaguely wondering whether they’d be nice pan-fried sounds like much more fun than worshipping at the altar of het-ness – and all the stuff I can’t have and don’t deserve.
Or I may make it into a drinking game. Which is also of the good.