Enfianced

The day before the Super Bowl, my main squeeze and I decided to get married. If you’re reading this blog and didn’t already know that… well I have a much wider audience than I guessed. Anyway, it’s fun and exciting and also the same as before except I am working on driving myself crazy already thinking about this awesome party happening probably 15-18 months from now. It’s been fun to share the news. It’s also been funny. Both of my parents suspected we’d already gotten married. Not true. Most people ask for the “story.” The story is something I never really thought I would have. You know how there’s some things you picture in your future and some things you don’t? Falsely accused of a crime goes in yes, “story” of engagement goes in no. It has long seemed strange to me that this huge life decision would be anything other than a conversation. It confuses me, women who claim to be surprised. Why would you agree to be married to someone if you hadn’t considered it before? The cultural expectation is so confusing, the man is supposed to ask, the woman is supposed to be surprised. A lot of those themes are addressed in this post about women proposing to men.

But there have been other interesting things. A week later I was out with some female friends from work and some friends of friends, most of them married, all of those wearing diamond rings. One of my friends mentioned the engagement and the friends of friends immediately looked at my naked left hand. I laughed, but also felt compelled to explain, “it’s at the jeweler.” It’s such a funny time we live in, where women keep their names, walk themselves down the aisle but are proposed to and wear diamonds. Or not.

There’s a lot of pressure. I resisted for a long time and I don’t think the decision to get married was caving, I do think it can from a place of wanting to be married to Charlie and go through a public dedication of our relationship. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I am tired of calling him my boyfriend, of trying to explain his significance in my life without a more serious title. Of husbands and wives who have known each other for half as much time as we’ve owned Gus or our house being taking more seriously. And it’s apparently impossible to get the storyline that everyone expects out of your head, since Charlie didn’t propose does he really want to get married to me? That Sunday, driving home from dinner, I asked him whether that was true… again. Do you want to get married to me? “Yes, are you going to ask me that every time you have a few glassess of wine?” No, I suppose not.

Then about 10 days ago I got the ring back from the jeweler. It was my grandma’s, she took it off her finger and gave it to me the last time I saw her in the summer of 2009. She was fading and I’ve kept it in a safe deposit box, in case any family member didn’t think I should have it, because I didn’t know what to do with this diamond(s) ring that was a titch too small. But becoming engaged, it seemed appropriate to take it out. To get it checked and sized and appraised and insured. And I did and I got it back and now I’ve been wearing it. It makes me feel uncomfortable because diamonds aren’t really “me” and it’s large and in charge and I spend all day working for poor people and my politics don’t really jive with diamonds or looking owned by a man who puts a rock on my finger. Just as I felt the need to explain there WAS a ring, I also need to explain-- this is an heirloom!

I guess this is all just dipping my toe into this wedding world that is frought with cultural weirndness and excess and, at least for me, guilt and discomfort. I still feel embarassed to look at white dresses. It feels goofy and fake. Like a little kid putting on too much eyeshadow from the Tinkerbell makeup kit. That’s cute, she thinks she’s a grown up. How do you stay genuine and “you” while doing something you’ve never done before and hopefully will never again? Stay tuned. I’m working on it.