Getting Married




One of the biggest stressors at any wedding is white high heels

I’m still not married yet.

I’m supposed to be, this year.  Right now.

I’m noticing that this year is almost closing and I never organized my wedding, like I was supposed to.
From what I can tell, I was supposed to:

– nail down a day and time
– tell people what was happening
– arrange a four-piece band to do Sting numbers
– order crab cakes and Lindauer Special Reserve
– buy a large dress
– buy (and this is most certainly the hardest part) a pair of white high-heel shoes
– feel like I’ve finally made it in the world

I didn’t do any of those things.  Instead, I talked myself out of it.

What if, a week or two after the wedding, I didn’t feel any different?  What if marriage was not as good as just living with your fiance and children, with an open-ended lifetime of not-marriage to look forward to?

I feel like a fraud.

All my friends are married.  They all sensibly got married absolutely years ago.  Off they went, down an actual aisle (not a hired topiary-lined pathway at their parents’ place) with hundreds of guests, a proper phalanx of groomsmen, with their sunglasses at the ready for the fun-filled editorial at the Auckland Domain after.

They had ‘hen’s nights’ and ‘wedding registers’.  They had a ‘wedding dance’.

There are three approaches to the wedding dance.  Some people go for the Wonderful Tonight ‘Slow Hand’ theme.  Other younger bucks, the ones with post-graduate degrees, choose something left wing, like Nick Cave, or This Mortal Coil.  And yet others, who clearly have no class or grip on reality, choose the musicianship of Sting.

After the wedding, they fly off to exotic Thailand for the ‘honeymoon, contact lenses and unlimited shagging’ package.  This is sometimes called the “Cystitis Mega-Deal”.

They come back with cool stories about the all-you-can-eat American breakfast deals, wearing American caps, and carrying a suitcase of rip-off American DVDs.

– Minority Report (Blu Ray, Extended Tom Cruise Commentary and Subliminal Scientological Mind-Fucking)
– The Die Hard Collection.  The Yippee-Kai-Ay Special Destruction Edition.
– The Tarantino Pack.  Because there’s a film buff within each of us.
– The Mel Gibson Collection: The Functional Alcoholic Years.

They come through the passenger arrival gates tanned, pierced, tatooed, sexually replete and ready for …

Married life.

What is married life?  Is it just the same as before, except now there is a legal expectation to act like a married person?  Will I have to hose my driveway each weekend while my husband washes the cars?  Will we go hand-in-hand shopping at the kitchen expo, in search of the right splashback for the kitchen wall?

Will I begin to have marital sex with my ‘husband’, perhaps a Saturday night knee trembler now and then?  Will my husband start to fancy women like Jennifer Garner and Penelope Cruz and I, Josh Emett and Simon Dallow?

Will I start to wear clacky mules instead of jandals, and my husband, a range of zip-up tops and long shorts, caps, and Aerial brand service station sunglasses? Will we in fact, become the couple mentioned in my game idea, Suburban Defender?

I worry that will all become the case, and rather naively, keep delaying it by delaying my wedding.

I’m wondering, readers, if I jump the broom, will I become an automaton, socially acceptable and kind of







One Comment

  1. Yet again, a fabulously written insight into the mind of a well educated, self thinking, question-the-world kinda gal….
    Love the fear that comes with the possiblity of change…. “doing it anyway” is not an option for this lovely – keeping it real is…
    And keeping it real she does

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