On being engaged
A funny thing happens when people find out you are engaged: that’s the first thing anyone wants to talk about. The old Monday morning small talk question “How was your weekend?” has been replaced by “So, have you set a date yet?”
People — women especially — beam and bounce, and in some cases, squeal while excitedly sharing wedding planning advice, or their own ideas of a dream wedding. You get introduced to people as “newly engaged” as though you just won an Oscar, or discovered the cure for cancer or something. It feels a bit like being welcomed into a cult or at least the Smug Marrieds Society.*
Don’t get me wrong: I want to marry Jason. He brings kid-on-Christmas style joy and laughter to my life. He challenges me to be happy — which is very hard for me — without me feeling like I am dependent on him for it. I feel loved and supported in ways I thought unimaginable. And I have a deeper level of admiration, respect, and affection for him than I have ever had for anyone. I want to have a lifetime worth of adventures and fulfill dreams with him.
But squealing glee? People, calm. the fuck. down. For us, life is the same as it ever was. I just have something extra sparkly on my left hand on that finger to the right of my pinky.
Marriage was not a life goal for either of us. It’s something that happened, quite unexpectedly, because we each found someone we wanted to keep around.
* If you see either of us exhibit symptoms of being a Smug Married, you have my permission to slap us both.
