The Wedding Story

Finally, it hit home

At the beginning of December, I called the council office to enquire about the procedure for a marriage licence. The clerk explained what paperwork was required, the costs involved, and how long it would take to get everything finalized. Once we’d assembled all the documents, we made an appointment to fill out the marriage application. The following day, the clerk rang me. He’d forgotten to ask me an important question. What surname did I choose as a married woman? I wished to keep the name I’d had all my life, the name everybody new me by, the name under which I’d been published. That wasn’t possible he said. What did he mean, I said. The law gave me two choices: either I took the surname of my husband or I added his surname to mine. “How can this be? I don’t want two surnames, I want to keep my own, I already have a surname I don’t need another,” I shrieked in disbelief.

That night after work I went home, climbed under the doona and sulked. “Not fair,” I grumbled. “Sexual discrimination...” I had tears in my eyes.