Cut The Crap, er, Cake

My only sister married her high school sweetheart 23 years ago. Twenty. Three. Years. Ago. Fortunately, they both rule, so it's lasted that long. My oldest brother has opted not to marry and has made quite a success of the bachelor lifestyle. My other brother married well to a lady who shares his goals and sense of humor--two essential qualities that have helped them last the ten years they have.

Up until about two years ago, the idea of marriage had me reaching for the Saltines and Sprite. It was about as delicious a concept as I could not imagine. I don't have any sort of a reasonable explanation for my aversion to commitment. My parents were married for 48 years. My siblings sported successful love stories. I had broken an engagement in my early twenties, but it wasn't for anything traumatic. He was a good guy. He just wasn't my good guy, through no fault of his or mine. It was a good decision for both of us, and not one I regret.

So, if my major experiences with love were mostly positive why did I feel the need to kick commitment in the throbbing nads? Part of it can attributed to the wedding hall where I worked for three years in college and grad school where I became so jaded with weddings that my coworkers and I would actually have running bets on when the ink would dry on these asses' divorce papers. There was a formula we used: The higher the cost of the wedding, the faster the marriage would dissolve like alka seltzer in a swimming pool. I would keep tabs in the local papers and sure enough, Mr. and Mrs. X would soon become Mr. X and Ms. Y within months. Shows like "Bridezillas" and "Platinum Weddings" tend to put the bitchy emphasis on the bride herself, but let me tell you who the actual maddening loon was in the family: The groom's mother. Without fail, this grande dame of muttering misery would burst through the kitchen staging area and demand something ridiculous and unattainable like elevating the bridal party table three feet so her 97-year-old uncle could get a "real good look at the ladies". She would be the first to pass out by the champagne fountain and the last to slur, "You kids are some...some....shumething else, you are." Thud.

My experiences there are an endless well of righteous indignance with the wedding industry, but I wouldn't trade my time there for anything. Where else could you get paid to hear a best man "toast" the new couple with "Well, Kim, you won't have to get any more abortions after today"? BEAUTIFUL.

I'm getting married in February. I'm looking forward to it, not just because he's one cool mf'er, but because he's completely supportive of not having a wedding with anyone besides our officiant, a couple witnesses, and God. We're filming it to send out to friends as a DVD wedding because we do want our loved ones to share in this special moment with us, but also as irrefutable evidence that I, Jaded Commitmentphobe, did not run for the hills as predicted, but instead stood my ground and vowed to make this marriage a success. Not only does that thought not make my breakfast back its thing up, but that thought makes me happy like a little lad in short pants.

Ahhhhhh, l'amour...