I’m engaged… to be married. (In the case you thought it was something else. I suppose I could be engaged, just generally speaking. Which I am, usually. Not at work, though. There I am not engaged. Until now. Although at work I’m still not engaged generally speaking, just maritally speaking.)
I’m betrothed… to be married. (That ellipses I suppose you could have done without.) It’s been about 3 weeks now and I think I’m finally coming down off the initial excitement high. And a high it definitely is. It stops your life in its tracks as everyone comes up to congratulate you, ask you questions and in some cases share their bitterness with you (thanks, mom).
At first I thought I didn’t want to live up this engagement. I mean, it’s just my man and I. We’re still the same people even though we’re getting married, so why make a fuss? But you know what? SCREW that idea. I’m living it up! And here’s why: coming off of the engagement high is only indicative of what will be. You must live up your engagement, because this is the only time in recorded history that people will actually be excited about your relationship. Once you get married, no one gives a shit. You’re news is old news. I know, I know, everyone will still love us, I get that. But people won’t celebrate us. We are celebrities right now. I can’t wait to start getting calls from Vogue, People, my mom, Allure, Chicago Bride and The Nation (that’s just the super left liberal dream of mine. Despite the content, if I could get in there, I would).
Moving along…
God forbid society’s reproductive push once you take the marital plunge. And then once you have children, your trendy friends who have chosen to go childless start finding reasons not to invite you and your crying baby up to their cabin in Geneva for the weekend. “We just don’t want to inconvenience you. I mean, we haven’t baby-proofed our house yet. I mean, my 25-year-old-live-in-boyfriend managed to fall from our second story loft yesterday trying to take a picture of his back mole so he could reenact a legitimate R. Kelly sex tape. And my PR job is so demanding right now, I’m pretty much on my Blackberry anyway trying to save Roma Tomato Inc. from bombing. But how are you? You look great for having been so preggers. You’re baby is so cute! Does it sleep in its own cage yet? Speaking of cages, have you tried the new Asian-fusion restaurant on Printer’s Row yet?”
Trendy friends aside, live it up ladies and gents. I’m already inundated with details like colors, shapes, people, places & things. Who? What? Where? When? How? But what about…? And so and so? But I hate so and so. So and so is so I don’t know.
Live it up. I know I am. I only plan to do this once. Unless my man starts taking a keen interest in R.Kelly and volunteering at the neighborhood Junior High.
A bacholorette am I, but now, I’ve got a nice little timeline of 12 months. Psha!
