I’ve Gone AWOL to First Gay Jail Wedding

It’s a very revealing moment in your working life when you ask your commanding officer for leave to attend a wedding and he tells you no. So what if everyone knows that the guy’s a vicious homophobe? That unfortunate personality trait has nothing to do with the love that’s very happy to declare itself between two loving and friendly good mates of yours. Yes, they’re in prison, what better way to meet people than when you’ve got a captive population? You didn’t even get around to mentioning the convoluted escape plan recently hatched to bust the two lovebirds out before the cake is even cut (there’s no need for anyone to worry. One of them was falsely accused but they’re having horrific difficulties with the appeals system and his husband to be is really a very nice chap indeed. I’m not comfortable telling you what he did, you’ll only judge him. Like the man who put him away for far too long).

So what are you supposed to do? Stick around like an especially well behaved puppy simply because someone more senior that you who’s ridiculously prejudiced (his recent spectacularly messy divorce certainly can’t have done anything to colour his opinion on blessed nuptials) told you that you weren’t allowed to go? Or do you exhibit to the world that you’ve actually got some balls (gender notwithstanding, we’re definitely being metaphorical here)? Of course you go with option number two, you’ve got pluck, courage, grit, determination and a wilful desire to flout authority (that’s certainly never going to lead you into trouble, stay headstrong you fabulous little daredevil). You’ll scale fences, climb under tunnels and finally put that expensive grappling hook to good use all in the service of being able to witness prison bound public proclamations of love. It’s by the by if you get fired or imprisoned yourself for such actions.

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