I wonder if 6.26.13 will become one of those dates, where people 50 years from now will ask, ‘Do you remember?’ and ‘Where were you when you heard the news?’

In case it isn’t, I guess I will answer those questions now.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of my 2004 Honda Element (of the burnt orange variety, in case you were wondering) at a gas station in some random back-hills town about 2 hours inside the border of Pennsylvania. My fiancé and I had just spent one hell of a harrowing extended-weekend “vacation” in the Boston area apartment hunting. We were tired, grouchy and beyond ready to be done with the driving and just in our own home already. Given the rate of rent, the cost of realtor fees and the general stress of fearing every decent, affordable and safe-looking apartment in the city was already rented, we hadn’t exactly been keeping up-to-date with the goings-on in Washington.

So, back to the passenger seat, at a gas station. A quick glance through Facebook on my super-duper smart phone, and I saw that Proposition 8 had been overturned! It cannot be stressed enough how wonderful this moment was for so many people, couples and families. But, it felt like mere seconds before there was a whirr of social media activity and suddenly a text from my mother, “Marriage!!! Yay!!!”
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