It's bright and sunny and beautiful today. Okay, so that's probably the single most homosexual thing I've ever said, so it'd be much appreciated if you'd just forget I said it. Anyway, point is, I'm happy as a clam today.

Someday soon, in some aspect, I will be a married man.

We just need to set a date... and a time... and a place... and find someone to perform the ceremony, order flowers, food, invite people get tuxedos, make reservations for a honeymoon... hire a decent photographer.

Huh. This is more work than I thought it would be. Seems like you should be able to "pop the question," as they say, and have it just, y'know, happen. But I guess that would just be too convenient.

"So, um, where do you want to do it?" I'm sitting across the table from Specs, who's reading over reviews for the most recent installment of his comic as we eat breakfast.

"In the bedroom, like we always do," he says without looking up.

I roll my eyes and fling a forkful of scrambled eggs at him. "Dumbass. I mean the ceremony."

He laughs and sets down the newspaper, wiping egg off of his cheek. "Oh, I don't know." He shrugs. "Someplace romantic, but not all frilly and girlie."

I laugh. "Yes, because we are manly men." I flex my biceps and then take a bite of my unflung eggs. "But anyway... you know any places available?"

"Well, we have to set a date first. When do you want to do it?"

I grin mischievously. "All day, every day." I duck as he balls up the classifieds page and throws it at me. "Hey, if you can, I can." He tries not to smile and generally fails. "But seriously... I don't want to wait too long."

"Hmm... a short engagement. You're not knocked up, are you?"

I roll my eyes and drop my head to the table.

"Okay, okay. How about maybe a month and a half? That'll give us time to get things together, invite people, have them R.S.V.P. Say, third week in October?"

I lift my head a little. "What day?"

Specs gets up and checks the calendar. "Twenty-first's a Saturday."

I smile and nod. "Sounds good."

"We just need to find a place and it'll all be cake from there."

Leaning back in my chair, I rack my brain for ideas. After a couple minutes, a light bulb pops up over my head. Or at least it would have if this were a cartoon. "Hey, how about the gallery?"

Specs leans against the table beside me. "The gallery?"

"Well, yeah... I mean, it's ours, so it's not like it's going to be booked, and it means something to the both of us. There's enough room for everybody to fit, and we could even hold the reception there if we want, and why are you looking at me like that?"

Specs is smiling at me in this weird, goofy way that I rarely see. He cups my chin in his hand and leans down. "The gallery is a great idea," he says, pressing his lips to mine.

I grin. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

I take his hand from my face and hold it. "Now, you mentioned something about cake earlier."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

We've set a date and a place, but things aren't getting any easier, which means only one thing: Specs is a dirty, rotten liar. Neither of us can decide on flowers – which, stereotypically, shouldn't be a problem, being gay men, but it really isn't our thing.

The flowers are the least of our worries, though. The hardest part is the guest list.

"So we've got Blink and Mush, Pie, Spot, Jack and Dave, Skittery and Oscar, Crutchy, Jake, Snoddy, Bumlets, and my folks, what about your folks?"

I look down at the floor. "I haven't exactly told my parents yet."

Specs rolls his eyes behind his glasses. "Dutch, they've had twelve years to get used to the idea that you..."

"That's not it. I just haven't told them."

"But you will tell them, right?"

"Yeah." I nod. "So, who else?"

Specs shrugs. "I don't know. I mean, we've got pretty much gotten everybody. But... it kinda feels like we're missing somebody."

"Say Sarah Jacobs and I will personally castrate you with rusty scissors."

He laughs. "Love you too, Lorena." He taps his pen against his bottom lip. "No, it feels like we're missing someone... important."

I lean over and look at the list. "Yeah... like... Racetrack. Hey, where the hell is Racetrack, anyway?"

"I don't know. Last I heard, he was married to that Caroline chick, and that was, like, a month after graduation."

I nod. "Tell you what. You find a florist and I'll track down our dear Mr. Higgins."

"Oh, sure," he says, rolling his eyes at me. "You get the easy job."