Buongiorno, bloggers!
My dear lovely, lovely virtual friends. May today's post find you in excellent health, happiness and marital status.
At right is a snippet from my favorite comic. Not related to what I've posted, but hilarious nonetheless. Do enjoy.
Today is a blustery cold, rainy day. Spring is coming, though. It really is. Soon, there will be picnics and ball-tossing and sun-dappled Scrabble. I cannot wait!
Today is also roughly ninety days before I commit single suicide...aka. tie the knot. Get hitched. Clasp on that ball and chain. Permanently attach my other half.
List of sarcastic euphemisms? Check. Now to the next order of business...
Usually, by this time of night, I've percolated over something long enough that I have....well, a blog to write...
Tonight, ever the blissed out picture of domesticity, we cooked together. Right after we grocery shopped....while debating the merits of granola over muesli. Aren't we interesting?
Not particularly. But, there it is, girls. The reason to rush out to get married: quibbles over which subset of cereal to purchase.
You meet the man of your dreams, steal him away from his country, his family, his girlfriend. You basically stalk him relentlessly until he relents and decides that giving you what you want is easier than filing for a restraining order.
Oh, the fairy tale that is our love. Isn't love grand? Eat your heart out, Danielle Steele.
Then of course, there's the sweaty, shaking, slightly feverish "Are you sure you're not sick?" proposal.
The ring, hastily purchased "because you like it, and it fits" from a tourist shop in the most beautiful European country you've ever laid eyes on (though that list is pretty short). Despite his protestations, you think it's the most beautiful thing ever...because you liked it, and it just...fits.
Surely the happiest sleep-deprived, cat-napping in the airport night of your life.
Everyone gushes over...well, everything.
Then, the wedding (cue theme music from 'Jaws').
As a woman in the throes of wedding planning, I remain stupefied in shock and awe at the sheer amount of energy that is literally thrown at the wedding/bridal industry. Yes, that's right. I said industry.
Think about it: somewhere out there is some poor schmuck whose livelihood literally freaking depends on your marital status! Can you imagine what those bedtime prayers sound like? I bet they sound something like this:
"Dear God/Great Bride in the Sky: please, please, please puh-leeze make sure at least one crazy Bridezilla who wants an iridescent seafoam color scheme gets engaged today. My kid needs braces, and the wire is popping out of my bra. Thank you. Amen."
This is to say nothing for the fact that the moment you get engaged, you suddenly have 10,000 relatives you've never met before, and every last one of them has an opinion on just exactly what your wedding should look like and what you should do.
God have mercy on your soul should you decide they don't make the cut when it comes to your guest list.
And why is it that all of the energy-post proposal is aimed at the woman? The message we're sending is: "Okay, so you asked. Good man! Your job is over now. Leave the rest of it up to the woman". All you have to do is ask, and suddenly...poof ! There's a wedding! Sounds like a lot of foreshadowing of what's to come: you're hungry? Ta-da: dinner! You can't find your lucky socks? Poof: one pair of Spiderman anklets!
If you're a woman who does the asking, I guess that makes you doubly screwed. Both on and off the hook. This, sadly is not as pleasant as it sounds.
Then, the blessed day arrives...pardon me while I stifle a giggle.
Forget trying to be an individual.
Oh, no. That's just not allowed. Why? Well, I am so glad you asked, Grasshopper!
Because that's just the way it's done. You must have someone else's children in your wedding party. These children, whom you may or not know, or serve to destroy perfectly good flowers, then litter with them as an announcement of your approach....for example.
It matters not if this is what you want. Because, even though this wedding is about you, your partner and your commitment to each other, no one cares what you want.
Brush off your tiara and buck up. You're about to be a married woman. This is just the beginning.
Sorry, love. I hate to break it to you. This was never about you. This is about what everyone else wants. Specifically, it's about the wedding they wanted and never got. I'm convinced this is the only reason that women wish for daughters. They'll finally get the wedding they always wanted.
Bring on the tangerine chiffon, and home-made bathtub gin. I'm ready. My dress is Scotch-guarded.
Bring. It. On. Here comes the bride, indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment