I got the giggles that I was not allowed to answer.
A swift look from the Boy and I controlled myself.
Due to a long-unremedied error on my passport, the exchange then went as follows:
Registrar: And the bride's date of birth?
Me: 12 September
Registrar: Oh...it says 2 September on your passport...?
Me: Oh... um... whichever suits you.*
Registrar: Well, which is it?
Me: Tedious explanation which I won't bore you with.
The Registrar sighs, accepts my explanation and fills in my correct date of birth. After reading out the legal ramifications of the forms and the need for care, attention and avoiding prison sentences for incest and treason, she asks me to check the licence.
At which point, the Boy realises that I am not the age that he stated. I am, in fact, a year older.
I never could do maths.
The two marriage licences are destroyed and we have to start all over again.
My giggles have now reached a critical level.
Ten minutes and much glaring from the Boy later, we narrowly escape from the registry office with our licence and £60 worse off.
We are awaiting postal confirmation that all is well.
I am not holding my breath.
*Note to others. If you find yourself in a similar situation in the future, provide detailed corroboration of your birthday. Do not think it will be helpful to allow the Registrar to choose for you. They will think you are illegal. Or lying. Or stupid. Or all three.
** If this isn't an excuse for another showing off of the bling, I don't know what is...