Not too long before we got married, friends of ours asked Michael to officiate their own ceremony. Since performing a wedding was on his bucket list, he jumped right on it. He found a site online where he could be ordained, signed up, printed out his certificate and ta da! He was official and ready to marry the lovely couple.
In addition to marrying folks, as a newly ordained minister with American Marriage Ministries, Michael is also able to perform baptisms and even funerals. But what’s really crazy to me, they say he can perform marriage counseling.
Yes, you read that right. Someone with no training in any type of counseling whatsoever can offer it to couples by going online and basically printing out a certificate.
“But I took a test!” Michael protested.
“Really. A test. How many questions were on this test?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Three. Three very important questions.”
“Did these questions have anything to do with what makes a good marriage, how to counsel people or even something about communication?” I asked.
“Um, noooo. They were just three very important questions.”
Right. So thanks to the online church of Crazy Marriage Ministries, now I’m stuck with a husband who thinks he can give marriage counseling. And not only that, he thinks he should be able to give it to me.
It’s become his new favorite game, in fact.
Don’t get me wrong, I was extremely proud the day he performed his first wedding. He put his heart into it and did such a great job. And I was proud again the second time, when he married other friends of ours. He’s amazing, my husband.
But this marriage counseling shtick has gotten a little ripe.
Michael is still having fun, though, of course. I knew I was in for it when I caught the mischievous gleam in his eye as he chastised me for not showing up in his office for any of the counseling appointments he’d ‘made’ for me.
“Looks like you don’t want to make this relationship great again,” Michael said, as he slowly shook his head.
“Enough with the Donald Trump stuff. That got old from you in January.”
“What?” he raised his hands. “I’m just trying to be helpful. I mean, we voted on this! I get to be in charge so I can make our relationship great again.”
“When did we vote on this exactly? Because I would never have voted for you to be in charge.”
“Well, that’s because you only get one vote, but I get two.”
“Why in the world do you get two votes?” I stupidly asked.
“Because I’m an ordained minister which means I’m a marriage expert, so I get two votes. Duh.”
“You aren’t a marriage expert! You printed out a piece of paper.”
“A piece of paper that says I can do marriage counseling,” he said, one side of his mouth rising in what I’m pretty sure was a poorly-hid smirk.
“Enough,” I clipped. “We’re all done with this. You don’t get two votes and you aren’t in charge.”
“See! You’re being really hateful and that’s why you need marriage counseling.”
“You. Are not. Giving me. Marriage. Counseling,” I said, poking his chest.
He opened his eyes wide, “But, honey, I just want to make our relationship…”
“Don’t say it!”
“Wow, she’s so hateful,” he said to the dog.
The Helicopter Bride 