I just realized I have accidentally called Britt the Complementary Spouse in a few recent posts. This is an error. He is the Complimentary Spouse.
“But, Dave,” I can hear you say.1 “That’s incorrect grammar. Don’t you have an English degree from a Top 25 university? Who are you, Ralph Wiggum?”
How dare you question me, peasant. Those are good points, and I’ve definitely had my share of Wiggumish moments, but let me explain. Long before Britt and I were married — in fact, long before Britt and I could even imagine marriage equality happening — Britt bought a membership at Sam’s Club. When he filled out the form, he was able to add me to the account for free as his “Complimentary Spouse.”
That may seem like a small thing, but it was one of the very first times that an organization recognized us as a couple. Back then, we couldn’t conceive of being spouses due to DOMA and similarly bigoted laws — but at least we could be spouses in the eyes of a retail warehouse club. It was something small, but it was something, and since then, we’ve been each other’s Complimentary Spouses.
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1 No, I can’t. What am I, Superman? You’re nowhere near me. How would I possibly hear you saying that?