On Saturday evening, one hundred friends and family members got together for our wedding at a house in the hills. There were rings and toasts and food and cake. It’s all a bit of a blur. The photos I’ve seen so far have me grinning idiotically, which I’m sure I was.

We had guests come from as far away as Brazil and as far back as Webelos. Weddings and funerals seem to be the only ways to assemble large swaths of people from across one’s life. And only in the former do you get to catch up. That was a great part of the weekend.

At a cocktail party on Friday night, I described the feeling that the universe had forked, and that luckily we’d ended up in the version in which marriage is legal and good people win elections. Here’s hoping my theory is proved correct.

You’ll likely see photos from the wedding in (ironically enough) bridal magazines. And you’ll see my name and face in the press as we get closer to the November election, in an effort to defeat a constitutional amendment which would make Saturday’s festivities impossible.

But for now, I’m just trying to get used to the ring on my finger. And saying husband.