It’s happening, comrades. My friends are getting engaged. Dear diary. As of this point in my life, I’ve had friends of friends get engaged, and friends of yore get engaged, but one of my best friends, my friend since kindergarten (that’s like, 20 years) is engaged, and that’s real. That’s a direct friend. That’s not like, oh, Lula Mae from Facebook that I had two classes with in college and saw her last year at a Brooklyn party and we spoke for twenty minutes, no. This is real. This is life.
I’ve blogged about marriage before. Here I am going mad over Will & Kate’s wedding. Here I am going on about how I want a wedding but not a marriage. And here’s a controversial post where I explain why I think you’re a jerk if you don’t give your guests a +1 to your wedding. You don’t need to read those first but if you want to, they open in a new window for your enjoyment, so have at it. Oh, one more. In this post, I explain why the marriage system should be like renting a car. There.
I am so thrilled for my friend. I am deliriously excited for her. I, of the Pinterest board “Wedding Insanity.” Because I really, really do love weddings. And I love people who are in love and want to get married. I just fear it for myself. It’s a trap. And the trap is the party. The dress. The food. The attention. That party is to me what mousetraps are to mice. But there’s no cheese before my sudden end. Only marriage. That frightens me.
Things change after marriage, they do. Having not been married, I do not know exactly what changes, but I’ve heard the experiences from those wiser than I, and I have some common sense, so my idea is that after marriage, you’ve gone from Oz back to Kansas. You’re muted. You’re so happy to be home with your Auntie Em and Uncle Henry, but the days of munchkin lands and yellow brick roads and trippy poppy fields are behind you now. Your new life is in that farm, with a family. Even if you don’t have children, you’re still a unit.
Children. I do not want children. That is a different post.
I want to be in love. I want someone to be in love with me. I believe it was Oscar Wilde who said, “Do not fall in love with a man who doesn’t make you feel like the most awesome, incredible, baddest bitch on the block.” Those of course weren’t his exact words, but the sentiment was the same. If I had that, and if I had money (because I think it’s just stupid to get married if you’re poor, but that’s another post), then I could do it, I could go to Kansas.
But for now I’ll stay in Oz and screw around with brainless scarecrows and heartless tin men and cowardly lions while wearing fabulous shoes instead.