October 3, 2025
Your faithful editor married his love at the end of August, in a private ceremony on Amelia Island. Therein lies a story. I couldn’t possibly make this up.
Michael and I have been dating for roughly four years and for most of that time felt no rush to tie the knot. We had both been disappointed before and there is a natural fear of repeating that disappointment.
But more, our relationship has been so wonderful, we were very much worried that somehow, putting that band on the finger would change the dynamics of the relationship. You know, suddenly I’m telling wife jokes and Michael is telling those husband-is-a-goof jokes. You get it…we lose the spark of romance. That’s a real thing, I think.
No matter, it just became time to do so. It did get somewhat complicated. First, her name is Michael. She actually called the IRS one day and the agent called in her supervisor because she felt Michael was impersonating her husband. Michael has had various vendors ask her if they could speak to her husband given that a woman named Michael must obviously be running outside the corral.
And then, we live in an era where people wonder, “has she always been she or what’s that all about?”
We’ve had hotel desk clerks look us up and down (one can only imagine what their confusion must be), and I’ve had more than one conversation…“No, that’s my fiancée, SHE dates me, who is the guy in our relationship.” Fiancée, girlfriend…hard…she has seven grandchildren but what do you say…gramma-friend? And then when the maître d’ or whomever would call her my wife, I wouldn’t bother to contradict. You can wear yourself out. And that’s just giving the name!
So, Michael, or Mikey, or M, or Mike or Michaela (I call her all of those) and I decide to tie the knot.
In old fashioned Sicilian style, I first asked her father for her hand in marriage and Don, being of Italian extraction, enjoyed that moment and gave his blessing. My parents are gone, but Michael’s mother was smiles and all of that, so the ground was now clear for marriage battle.
First, the kids. So, we held a family Zoom to announce to them first. The children and the grandchildren are scattered everywhere. And it was very nice and then of course, the kids hung up and forgot about us until the next time we inserted ourselves into their peace and quiet.
We sent an announcement to our friends and important people in our life; in all we sent 150 announcements (save that thought) and that was nice too! So many well wishes and kindnesses and the occasional “what took you so long?” addressed to me mostly.
Onto the wedding!
We checked and there was a positive balance in the checking account, so we thought perhaps a destination wedding in Orlando. Why? Because everyone can reach it on a direct flight, even from Appleton, Wisconsin where one of Michael’s daughters’ lives (Go Packers, etc). Great idea! Hire the wedding planner and so forth and get going on it!
But it became clear pretty quickly, that it wasn’t going to work. First, the earliest we could pull it off would be next June. Second, those people are mostly married, so the potential guest list could populate an entire country club, given the times two headcount. OK, so we tried to pare it down but that became mostly impossible. “I’ll trade you Charlene for Biff…”
Thus…elope!
Quick, simple, wouldn’t torture everyone with having to attend (“Oh damn, we got that stupid wedding in Orlando and graduations coming up and I wish they’d just elope…”).
So, we decided to check into the Ritz Carlton on Amelia Island for four nights and get married by the Judge in Yulee, Florida. No guests, so no hard feelings about leaving people out and all of that. Here it is on a map so you can orient yourself to its international reputation and presence:
We went to the clerk in our hometown and got the license. In Florida, they make you wait three days before you can actually use it, I suppose in case you were on a tequila bender or whatever and once sober, might tear it up.
Michael shopped for her dress, settled on a modern treatment for the traditional wedding dress, I opted for the black suit and so forth. Dress up a little bit, ya know?
Anyway, we hop in the car and drive from the Ritz to the Courthouse in Yulee. It is advertised on Apple Maps to be about a 20–25-minute ride. Let me just say that when it comes to Yulee, you can’t get there from here. We had a 4pm appointment, they close at 5PM.
We bustled up to the counter, the marriage clerk appeared from behind her desk and in retrospect, I think the thunder and lightning clap on her appearance should have warned us.
We handed over our documents and she said, “Driver’s licenses please.”
This moment is what I will forever call The Hammer and Tongs of Thor.
I handed mine over, Michael handed over her phone which contains beautiful color pictures, front and back, of her license.
“Sorry, I need the actual license.”
Michael (with a smile): Oh, it’s right here, front and back!” (triumphantly)
She, The Destroyer of Worlds: “No, the actual license.”
Me: But you’re the government! You issued it! It is in your system! Just…”
STDofW: “Sir, I need the actual license. No license no ceremony.”
Michael (gripping my arm in a painful “now let’s make friends here Tony” grip): Can we ask your supervisor?”
STDofW: “Arlene!”
Me whispering to Michael, aghast: “M, am I mistaken or does Arlene have a raven sitting on her shoulder?”
The answer is the same, but Arlene tosses this life ring:
“If you can get back here by 5PM with the license, we will get you married.”
I am Mensa, I do math. She is offering to stay past quitting time. This is unparalleled and deserves serious consideration.
We waste not a moment. We race out of the Courthouse. Its 4:10 the drive is 20-25 minutes, no sweat! But wait! It’s now rush hour. This can’t be done. I ask Michael what the land speed record between Yulee and the Ritz might be. She in turn is very encouraging…” This isn’t Daytona, don’t kill us before we get married. It would just slow us down.”
I won’t bore the reader with the trip back to the Ritz. Don’t know the land speed record, but I would be in contention. I lapsed into a kind of mesmerizing video game mentality and tunnel focus took over. We screech to a halt at the hotel, Michael leaps out through the window to run up to the room and get the license.
Three minutes…five minutes…eight minutes…what in the world?
It seems that the management of the Ritz decided that day and time would be the perfect, most optimal time to change the electronic locks on the doors. Michael’s doesn’t work. Michael grabs the cleaning woman on the floor. She does not speak English. Michael hand signs for “supervisor” I think by mimicking hanging from a rope. The supervisor doesn’t have the new key. Michael is very kind and composed…”GET ME INTO THAT ROOM!”
They do. She pops into the car, making a nice half gainer through the open window, we have 25 minutes to get to the Courthouse. What’s that line, “Get me to the church on time…”
We get there at 4:57, trailing four patrol cars flashing lights behind us, but I figure I can deal with the tickets after the wedding. Worst case, have to spend the night in the lock-up until another judge can see me in the morning, but I’ll plead stupid love as my defense. “Clearly” intones the judge.”
Michael leaps from the car, I go and park. I have a momentary thought that Walt, at the front door, might just close the building at 4:56 but I realize I’m letting my imagination get away with me.
Well, true to her word Arlene makes sure we are married. Tanya officiates, there is no judge available, so we were officially married by one of the property clerks in Yulee. We don’t care, it’s legal. Phew! Married! Wow!
But that is not the end of the story. There is a somewhat fitting conclusion.
The wedding night!
OK, so we have champagne on ice, I’m running around the suite playing with various lighting combinations (dimmer switches all activated). Michael is at her make-up table, no doubt steeling herself and summoning courage. I’ve got my James Bond PJ’s (kind of a black background with gold striping), I’m humming and winking at myself in the mirror, and everything is just perfect.
THEN THE HOTEL ALARM GOES OFF.
Yes, deep in the bowels of the Ritz Carlton, a worker with an acetylene torch inadvertently lights a grease fire in the kitchen under repair and sets off a conflagration. Which generates a total evacuation of the hotel.
We won’t see our room again for hours. For one thing, it takes the fire department in Yulee 16 weeks to get to the hotel. Then they wait for the fire supervisor to arrive on his bicycle and so forth. Once the Ritz started serving drinks to everyone standing around outside, we knew the goose was cooked.
So, if you ask me how we spent our wedding night, I will tell you most of it was spent on one of the patios at the Ritz, sharing a stuffed chair, in a somewhat mute and astonishing moment. How could this possibly be happening?
Well, married nonetheless and all legal and everything.
What did we learn that we can impart, perhaps to help?
Don’t get married in Yulee Florida, for one. But if you do, make sure you bring your physical driver’s licenses with you.
I am reminded that life lessons are learned, but sometimes, they are learned the hard way and so, difficult to forget.
Thoughts, questions, or reflections? I’d love to hear them. You can reach me anytime at anthony@workingprofit.com
