When I was 5, my sisters married me to Doug McDowell  — two  doors down. It was a big deal: they curled my hair like Shirley temple, and dressed me in one of my sisters’ dresses, so it would reach the floor. After the elaborate backyard ceremony, Doug and I planned that he would live on top of the upright piano at our house, and I would bring him oreos. We figured no one would ever be able to see him there because it was so high up.