Tying the (Slip) Knot
By Yvonne Zipter

I am now a card-carrying lesbian. Not that there were a lot of doubts about my status or anything or like I've been called upon to prove my nonheterosexuality to a disbelieving population of hunky men. Although, since the card doesn't say explicitly that I'm a lesbian—just that I am the domestic partner of Kathy—really stupid people might need further proof.

But the little card—suitable for embossing—is just one of the many perks of signing up, in Illinois, with Cook County's domestic partnership registry. Did I say "many"? The other perk is an authentic certificate, with the Cook County seal and the Cook County Clerk's signature on it. A third perk might be finding a use for that $30 you just didn't know what to do with: Should I buy a few groceries? A new pair of gym shorts? Refill my prescription? No, I know: I can register as a domestic partner with Cook County Illinois! An added bonus is that the registration process has all the pomp and circumstance of buying a bus pass.

I don't mean to sound snippy about this. I'm pretty sure Mayor Daley and County Clerk David Orr would just as soon we be allowed to get married and that domestic partnership is their compromise in the face of an idiot administration in Washington. So I am grateful that they are doing what they can. And David Orr couldn't be more gracious: on a whim, I e-mailed him the day before we were planning to go down and get hitched and asked if he would pose for a picture with us, an opportunity we ended up missing due to a series of misunderstandings and mishaps. But Mr. Orr had been ready and willing to comply with my request, even on such short notice. I couldn't identify why I'd even made this request until after the fact, but I think it was to lend an air of ceremony to the whole thing. If we couldn't have a man of the cloth, we could at least have a man of the clerk.

But after just shy of sixteen years together, I have to admit I'm greedy for a little something more than a blue certificate and a couple of wallet-sized cards—something that might actually entitle us to, say, health benefits and tax breaks and being on the New New Newlywed Game whenever it begins airing again. The question is, I suppose, why register as domestic partners then at all? It would seem that a lot of other people in the Chicagoland area have asked themselves that question and could not come up with a good answer: we are only the 174th couple to register in the month that the option has been available. Even with the nonmonogamists among us, there have to be more than 174 couples here.

I can't answer for the other 173 couples but I think the impulse for us was complicated—a bit of "just in case" (What if a situation arises—an emergency of some sort, for instance—in which we needed to prove our partnership?), mixed in with a desire to do something symbolic of our commitment. Our friend Barbara was surprised that we hadn't already tied ourselves together ceremonially in some way, but I assured her that other than the large amounts of debt we share, we were, up to that point, not officially a couple. Of course, only the most homophobic of idiots could have mistaken us for anything but a couple long prior to our registration—like the guy at the refinancing company who asked, "So—you two sisters?" And we ourselves have never had any doubts about being in it for the long haul, or at least not for fifteen years or more now.

Nevertheless, even though this union—unlike an actual marriage—could be officially dissolved with as minimal complication as filling out a form and sending in another $30, it's been wonderful to see how genuinely excited and happy all of our friends and family have been for us—perhaps even more excited than we are!

Although I am pleased that now when I am hanging out at the bars (which, of course, with our 10 P.M. bedtimes we do so much of!), when someone hits on me I can say, "Stop!" Then whip out my card and say, "I'm a domestic partner."

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