I was watching the very poignant videos of gay couples about to marry over on the New York Times website and it got me thinking about how much marriage meant to them, and how I was shallow and terrible and the worst human being ever because I never really wanted to get married.
I wanted to get engaged.
I wanted to wear a big rock on the ring finger of my left hand and show it to all my friends, and maybe even that guy who lives out on the street over the heating grate, and say, “Yes, it’s true. My man wants to marry me.”
As it turned out, I wound up with a ring that featured a really tiny diamond surrounded by even smaller diamond chips, the money for which I think my poor medical resident
husband fiancé boyfriend raised by selling his blood plasma.
I was so ambivalent about actual marriage, however, that we went along with our engagement and never set an actual wedding date. We lived together, got pregnant (one time, then a second time) and still we wandered along in this perpetual state of “engagement.” Sure, we even went so far as to get a marriage license but then it sat on our kitchen counter for a month, and then into a second month.
“You know, this license is only good for sixty days,” I mentioned to my
husband boyfriend fiancé one day.
“So?” he said.
“If we don’t get married by the end of this month, we have to get a new one. And that will cost another sixty dollars,” I said.
Long time readers of this blog know I am
cheap frugal, so they will have already guessed that we ran down to the Justice of the Peace and used that marriage license like it was a Buy One Get One Free coupon for Quilted Northern Bath Tissue about to expire.
I have to confess that as I watched the videos of these long time couples who are finally able to have their commitment publicly recognized and sanctioned, I got a little teary-eyed and I started to think that maybe marriage is a beautiful thing.
Royalty free stock photos including the images in this post can be found at Stock.XCHNG.