We woke up Monday morning and said “Let’s get this over with.” Got our license that afternoon at Portland City Hall, and made an appointment with a Justice Of The Peace. Friday morning, I put on a tie, Prentice put on her favorite Stevie Nicks outfit, and we trotted off to the courthouse, 3yr old Eli between us.The Justice’s office was something from Mickey Spillaine; high ceiling, drab paint peeling off the walls, enormous wooden desk, dial phone atop a pile of overstuffed manilla folders. The Justice himself was a silly cartoon of a man in a tweed jacket with elbow pads, thick horn-rimmed glasses, tousled brown hair and a mustache that obscured his pursed lips. There was just enough room for the two of us, Eli, Pren’s dad, my boss and the Justice to stand. Our ceremonial rings were bread ties.After the “I do’s”, Pren’s dad handed me a $50 bill. We stopped at an import shop and bought a couple of $5 silver rings, just for show. Our reception was fried oysters at the Old Port, just the two of us and our firstborn. We spent the rest of the day at the playground in Deering Park.