Why You Shouldn't even THINK about a Courthouse Wedding
Posted: Saturday, November 07, 2009
by Maureen Thomson
Lyssabeth's Bay Area Wedding Officiants
Dum, dum, de dum, here comes the bride...all eyes turn toward you as you enter the room....looking radiant, serene....the picture of bliss. Oh but wait, before you take your walk down the (very short) aisle, you must pause in order to pass through the metal detector!
You probably have a very valid reason for considering a Courthouse wedding, but no worries, I'm here to dissuade you of that notion entirely and give you alternatives. Perhaps you're on a tight budget, or you've been planning a big wedding, but the pressure is getting to you so you're going to chuck the whole thing in favor of some simple "I do's" before a local justice of the peace. Or maybe you're a total introvert and the thought of proclaiming undying love and commitment in front of 200 of your friends, family members and your boss is not exactly up your alley. Safer to head downtown on a Tuesday afternoon with only your honey as witness if you mumble and fumble your vows!
I have three little words for you that will have huge impact. Don't do it! Let me script a scenario for you about how the day might go. You wake up. Ah! Your wedding day. Plan to have this feeling of bliss shattered when you arrive at the county courthouse. You'll be greeted by the ubiquitous security guard complete with metal detector. You'll queue up behind all the grumpy people who've been assigned jury duty that day. This will feel especially awkward if you've opted to don formal wedding attire. (Hey, get a load of the guy in the tuxedo and the gal in the meringue dress!)
The metal clip that holds your wedding-day hairdo in place will set off the alarm, causing the guard to bellow into his radio, "We need a guard for a female search!" while people send you looks of either pity or bemusement. Your groom, who has neglected to take the rings from his pocket, will face similar scrutiny. Red-faced, you'll endure the wanding, the patting and the final nod of approval, then after putting your shoes back on, you'll be sent on your way to the clerk's office to obtain your marriage license.
Once there, you'll be given the "opportunity" to take a number and wait your turn to be called. It will feel vaguely familiar to you. You'll ponder this familiarity, wondering why you have a distinct sense of dj vu when you know you've never set foot in the clerk's office in your life. But then it dawns upon you. This place has the same feel as the DMV, complete with drab walls, bored employees in cubicles, copious amounts of bureaucratic paperwork and the interminable wait.
By now you're starting to think you should have popped a few bucks for the chapel down the street.
At long last, your number is called and you and your intended eagerly approach the window, where you are asked a number of questions by the cubicle-inhabiting worker, who ultimately--and with no acknowledgement that this is a very big day for you indeed--hands you your marriage license and drones, "Courtroom number 705, down the hall to the right, take the elevator to the 7 th floor....NEXT!!!"
You scurry out, relieved to the point of giddiness. You've made it past the hurdles and the coveted paperwork is in your hands. You head up to the seventh floor, but as you are pushing the elevator button, you hear an unfamiliar clanking and shuffling. You turn to see a sheriff, escorting a sullen looking man in prison scrubs who is wearing both handcuffs and leg shackles. Oh, didn't you know that the county jail is in the basement of this building? After all, we all deserve our day in court, whether it's for elopement or arraignment.
You all shuffle into the elevator--some shuffling more than others. You wonder if it would be inappropriate to mutter, "have a nice day," as the guard and his shadow exit the elevator on the 3 rd floor. You don't want to be rude.
But wait, another couple enters the elevator as the doors are closing. Phew! At least these folks are not in leg irons. In fact, they look quite respectable. But then you notice the woman is clearly agitated; enraged, even. "That lying SOB, she rails, "I want him to HURT! He'll pay child support through the nose if it's the last thing I do! And by the way, I insist on getting the SUV, the dog and the antique dresser in the guest room " The gentleman with her, clearly her attorney, encourages her by agreeing that yes, he will certainly drain her soon-to-be-ex of every last penny, stick of furniture and shred of dignity the lying SOB might still possess.
Ding. Fifth floor. Ladies lingerie, giftware, housewares....divorce court.
More than a little spooked, you finally exit the elevator from hell and position yourselves expectantly in front of the judge's clerk's desk. She gives you a "what makes you think you're so special look" and directs you take a seat. The judge will be with your shortly. What she doesn't tell you is that his honor has a full docket this morning and will not even glance your way until the noon hour. It is now 10:15 a.m. And by the way, there are three couples ahead of you.
With no other choice, you sit, perusing six month old issues of People Magazine, where you will no doubt read at least one article about some fabulous picture-perfect wedding. You're beginning to think that putting up with paparazzi would be a good problem to have.
At 12:45, the judge comes out and introduces himself to all couples present. He smells vaguely of mustard and is picking a wayward sesame seed from his front tooth. He needs to be back in court by 1:00. He'll do his best. Of course, this means that there is time for the first three couples to get in their nuptials. You? Well, you'll have to wait until another judge is available. That may not be until court is adjourned for the day. Frazzled, you begin to snap at your intended, the love of your life. It's not looking good.
Several hours later, your name is called. You are ushered into the judge's chambers. He pulls out a binder and intones, "do you, Bradley (your groom's name is Brendan), take this woman, yada, yada, yada.. you may kiss the bride.
You look at your watch. The ceremony took 90 seconds... You sigh.
Okay, I'll stop here. While this is admittedly a worse-case scenario, you get my drift. More than likely, you're not going to have a wedding ceremony upon which you'll look back with fond memories if you opt for a courthouse wedding. Please, in the name of true love, consider other options. Here are some ideas to get you started.
Hire a professional wedding officiant who offers an elopement ceremony. This will only cost a bit more than a courthouse wedding (most elopements will run less than $200 especially if you have it performed on a weekday).
Write your own ceremony and have a friend perform it. Many states will give a layperson one-time credentials to legally perform a wedding ceremony. Also, one may obtain an online ordination through an institution such as the and most states will recognize this as legally binding.
If it's an issue of money, consider delaying your wedding for a few months until you can save for something a notch above the courthouse. I'm not saying you have to spend $20 grand and invite everyone you know. But a small backyard wedding with a handful of close friends and your parents followed by a potluck picnic and wedding cake will be a better tribute to the start of your married life than being married in the judge's chambers after a six hour wait.
If you feel you absolutely must have a courthouse wedding, then at least consider that as merely the legal portion of your commitment. Prior to the courthouse appointment--or just after--escape with your honey (and maybe a handful of loved ones if you wish) to a romantic location. At that spot, exchange your vows--heartfelt ones that symbolize your unique love and values. Then seal the deal with the exchange of rings. Let that experience be the one you remember when you look back upon the start of your married life.
And if the above hasn't convinced you to eschew the courthouse wedding, I have but one more pearl of wisdom to throw your way. Have you noticed how similar the word "courthouse" is to the word "outhouse"? Two little letters make up the only difference.
And wouldn't you rather begin your married life with a flourish as opposed to a flush?
Maureen Thomson is a wedding officiant and owner of Lyssabeth's Oregon Wedding Officiants .
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Maureen, thanks for sharing this well-written article. Good advice. I enjoyed reading it. Nenita
Having been married three times, the first a traditional church wedding, second a courthouse wedding, third a notary public. I would suggest to all those considering their wedding day to read this article and heed your advice.Glenn, thanks for your kind words. I, too, have been married more than once and my absolutely most cherished wedding memory came from my small elopement wedding held outside in December under twinkling holiday lights.
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