01.31.2008
Somebody hit snooze on my clock
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It doesn’t matter if you were the girl who wore camo under her skorts or thought pink was for crybabies — sooner or later, the wedding bug is going to sink it’s nasty, time-and-money-draining teeth into your primed-for-a-white-dress-but-probably-shouldn’t-be-wearing-white butt.
If we were all scientologists, we would likely believe alien life forms have programmed us to instantly think multi-tiered cakes and flower arrangements once twenty-something hits.
Since we’re not all scientologists and most of us think Tom Cruise is bat-dung crazy, we likely believe it’s more of a cultural standard — twenty-something hits, your body goes to hell yet you’re craving A-line chiffon.
If that’s not enough, there’s this smattering of couples getting married and shooting out kids like they’re trying to responsibly repopulate the earth with their nondisposable diapers and eco-friendly baby wipes.
Or maybe it’s a co-worker leaving Carolina Bride magazine on your desk because they think it’s funny the boyfriend is going on year seven of college and an engagement is farther away than peace in the Middle East.
Or maybe it’s that there’s an upcoming bridal insert in the paper and you’ve been chosen to find content and design it.
Or maybe it’s because for the 80th time, someone has asked, “Do you think he’s going to ask on Valentine’s Day?” and you reply, “No, that day is reserved for money-driven executives and the saps who play into the pockets of an industry that relies on reserving emotion for Feb. 14, only the dumbest day in the shortest month of what will end up being the loneliest year for those who screw up a Valentine’s present. And besides, we’re waiting to get married until we’re ready to punch out kids with earth-friendly accessories.”
So, yeah, there’s some pressure.
Maybe it’s not so much pressure as this looming sense of “If you aren’t married soon, you won’t ever have babies because according to most popular TV shows and celebrity trends, adoption is way more likely to happen than birthing your own child.”
And it’s just like, look, I don’t even want to mess with foreign embassies over taking custody of a kid who will probably end up hating me during the prime of his adolescence anyway.
And come wedding time, I don’t want to mess with finding the happy medium between what his family wants — a traditional gown in a church with a priest — and what I want — a white bikini on a beach with a friend who was ordained on the Internet, ala Joey Tribbiani.
(Note: I picture that happy medium would consist of being half-clothed with a bottle of church wine watching “Friends” reruns.)
So if just the thought of a wedding and fetuses is a headache, why do we want it all so bad?
(Another note: Do you think fetus follows the cactus plurality rule? Should it be “feti” and not “fetuses”?)
I’m actually going to side with Mr. my-marriage-and-ensuing-child-was-all-a-publicity-stunt Cruise — it has to involve outside influences.