‘To have and to hold. In sickness and in health’. Those words take on particularly poignant meaning when marrying a sufferer of MMS, Mutable Morphology Syndrome. I’ve known my fiance, Marcus, for five years and I think he’s only been flesh-and-blood for two of those if you were to deduct all the days he’s been a cup, or a chair, or a traffic cone, or any of the thousands of other things he turns into when he gets anxious.

In our heart of hearts, we both knew the wedding day wasn’t going to go how we hoped. There’d be too many flashing lights, too much noise and stress. He couldn’t help it, his body would just naturally freeze like a deer in the headlamps and turn into whatever was nearby to hide. But we were determined. We decided from the get go it would be a low stress wedding and his doctor placed him on some strong anti-anxiety meds that seemed to be controlling his condition.

On the morning of the wedding, things were going well. Marcus was calm, he was human. I’d woken early so the autocloset could fix my hair and make-up, and my sister was helping me into my wedding dress when my husband-to-be accidentally walked through the wrong door.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony! Get out!" my sister yelled at him.

I really wish she hadn’t shouted. He froze up in fright, my wedding day hopes dwindling before my eyes as his flesh evaporated into the white, lacy lingerie he’d been staring at. The lingerie that he, in my dreams, would have removed with his teeth on our wedding bed. Dreams that were now dashed. "Oh, Marcus." I stared down at his crumpled, inert body, trying not to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” my sister said, close to tears herself. “What are we going to do? He can’t walk you down the aisle like this.”

“I know,” I sighed, removing my real panties and slipping my legs into his holes. I pulled his delicate body up, fitting him snugly against the virginal womanhood I’d so hoped he would be deflowering tonight, and sealing him in place with the garter belt. At least this way he would be in attendance for my marriage.

I looked at the autocloset. “But you can.”