Wedding fever

by tess

During the holidays, the son of Linda the Loudmouth asked his girlfriend to marry him. And even a vitriolic old curmudgeon like me concedes that it’s a single pleasant note in the murky dirge of daily life that two young adults can have enough confidence in themselves, in the world, in life to want to face it all together. Of course there’s also the lurking knowledge that he’s taking this giant leap into wedded bliss as a small step away from the apron strings that have shanghaied him very firmly to his mother’s breast for 30 years.

And so the wedding blather begins. Linda the Loudmouth provides weekly reports about which issues of Modern Bride, Martha Stewart Weddings, Brides, Bridal Guide, Elegant Bride, and World Bride that Bonnie Brideface is reading. We all oooohed and aaaaahed over the ring Bonnie had re-fashioned from Linda’s own 15th anniversary diamonds. The Gown has been purchased and awaits The Blessed Event. Ongoing discussions of cakes, flowers, bridesmaids, guest lists, vows, photographers, videographers, invitations, caterers, favors, tuxedos, bands, honeymoons, and gifts await us. Bated breath all around. GRETCHEN: I JUST THREW UP. BUT DON'T WORRY; THE DOG IS CLEANING IT UP FOR ME.

Having learned early the convenience of the word NO when delivered in tandem with an eye-rolling grimace, I’ve attended five weddings in 47 years. Two of them were mine but I’m not sure I count the second one as a wedding per se: the five-minute ceremony was conducted en route from work to the grocery store and, since it was casual Friday, we were both wearing jeans. My friends’ weddings appeared to be all traditional claptrap replete with pomp and circumstance but devoid of love and affection. So far only two of those three weddings have resulted in divorce. In fact my best friend’s father recently celebrated the final payment for her reception; the annulment was sealed in 1993. GRETCHEN: WOAH. WAIT A MINUTE. I'M NOT YOUR BEST FRIEND?

Another very dear friend is considering marriage and I wish her the very best no matter what she decides. I speak to her from my heart but it’s nearly impossible for a middle-aged woman to share the exuberance and faith of a much-younger woman. The passage of time and accumulation of baggage give rise to doubts that make me sound like a wretched (and statistically improbable) crone when examining the potential of wedded bliss. GRETCHEN: WAIT -- IS THAT ME? I'M NOT THAT MUCH YOUNGER THAN YOU.

Intellectually I realize that the gown, flowers, photographer, reception, et. al. are meant to celebrate the joyful event and to mark its importance. But the miserable malcontent in me just doesn’t buy it. The promise between two people, whether it’s permanent or not, should be more about commitment and intimacy, and less about spreadsheets and timelines. The event should focus on two people feeling safe and loved rather than friends and families, no matter how well-meaning they may be. GRETCHEN: I TOTALLY AGREE. sorry. I'll stop interrupting. BUT THIS WISDOM IS WHY WE ARE FRIENDS. THIS, THE, "YOU GET TO CHOOSE" ADVICE, AND THE NOW-INFAMOUS: "DO YOU REALLY HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO TALK ABOUT THAN YOUR WEIGHT, GRETCHEN?"

It comes down to this: if you’re a wedding-crazed, starry-eyed 22 year old who needs a toaster oven, then by all means spend $25,000 to get that toaster oven. If you’re adults, then commit or don’t but you’ll find that it makes far more fiduciary sense to spend $25 and buy your own damn toaster. GRETCHEN: I'M BUYING MY OWN TOASTER. BUT I'LL WEAR MY WEDDING DRESS WHEN I USE IT. HOW'S THAT FOR COMPROMISE?