During our morning brunch, I vividly remember how Jennifer Benson, my attorney cried out, “Patriotic, yes. Broke, yes. Go ahead—give it a try!”
In the Santa Monica courthouse, she stood beside me as I asked the Court for the right to marry America, citing my unrelenting love for everything from sea to shining sea.
The Judge said, “All marriage proposals considered must include a prenup.” It took Benson and fifteen of her attorneys (working daily on contingency) six drafts and three years to complete the damn thing—the exact same number it took to get the United States Constitution right, I gather.
During the contentious six-month legal arm-wrestling match, the judge had a coronary event and died suddenly in the courtroom. His successor was ready to go on vacation and approved the prenup in less than three hours.
We wed beneath the Liberty Bell and honeymooned on one of her protectorates where she wore her red, white and blue bikini every day.