This One Time At Band Camp

I went to a really weird summer camp.

And one of the weird things that happened at the weird summer camp was a kind of carnival one weekend, in which the various camp counsellor types would set up booths for the entertainment of the kids.

One of the booths, every year, was The Marriage Booth. At which one could go, put together a little silly ceremony, and be issued a little copper ring.

Pairs of campers went, of all possible gender combinations. Large morasses of people declared themselves group married. Sometimes one person married a long list. People went back again and again to get their little copper rings. There was a great parody done of all the tropes of romance, melodramatic proposals on one knee the way only nerdy kids can do, the occasional moping about not being asked, and no sense of exclusivity or ownership.

The one time I actually went to The Marriage Booth was a time I'd actually gotten up the nerve to ask a boy I was sweet on. He, who had just married a group of about a dozen people, cheerfully agreed.

But I got a sillymarriage all to myself.

And I wore the shoddy copper ring until it turned my finger black and fell apart.