As I recall (and note here that Courtney insists this isn't how it went... but she also claims not to remember the hitchhiking prostitute with the 2 legged puppy in the back seat or the taffeta ball gown I was wearing either: Are we really calling journalistic integrity on me? My blog, my recollection, babe) I yelled "You admit it! You're going to marry him and you love him and you're going to be a housewife! I can't wait to call everyone we know and tell them that you're engaged!"
And she yelped "No... that's not what I thought you said! (and what did you think I had suggested, Court? That you carry him?)! I didn't understand you!"
And I was babbling on and on about how I was going to blog it, and should I call her mother to tell her or would she like to, and can the bridesmaids dresses be green? I look great in emerald green. Just not yellow-- I look terrible in yellow. I mean, I can be a bridesmaid, right? I can't believe you're getting married! All the while, my dear friend proceeded to get pink and frustrated and of this I am sure: At one point she did utter the phrase, as so many people have in the past several years... "You better not blog that (in fairness, I think I did actually suggest that I would first this time)!"
And yes, I know it wasn't nice to freak my friend out about a simple misunderstanding, but she does this great flustered exasperated mom of an overactive toddler thing when I get absurd, and it makes me giggle, and that's why I did it. It's also why periodically I would still say "So, can I tell people you're getting married yet? Can I blog it now?" when she would get that far away "I'm in love" look in the time that followed. I think that somewhere in the back of her mind she actually did fear that I would make an unreasonable false statement about her pending nuptials just because I thought it was funny, both on the Internet and to our closest friends at some public gathering.
And, I think that's fair enough... I really might do something like that.
As it turns out, however, Courtney is very recently engaged. And what is more, despite my harassment previous, she's still by some miracle asked me to be her maid of honor. While it's true that I have already sent her a text in the 3 hours since she has asked me with an embarrassing suggestion for the toast I would like to make, I have also already cried because I'm so happy for her, and because I'm so happy to have her in my life and to be part of such a major time in hers. Her fiance thinks the world of her, she has been the happiest in the past few days that I have ever seen her, and this is something she wants: Someone she loves and trusts, who loves and trusts her, to share her life with. She should have that, and now she will have that, and I'm thrilled. I'm thrilled that one of her dreams is coming true.
And, of course, I've clarified with her that yes, yes, now I'm going to blog it.
It has made something clear to me though, and pardon my jaded nature here because the following statements are not about marriage, they are about me: I am sooooo soooo certain that I never want to get married, ever.
It's not that seeing one of my best friends in the entire worlds joy isn't beautiful to me, and it's not as if I wish or expect anything but the best and happiest for her. But, for just one second I imagined that I were engaged, just let myself run with the silly romantic notion of what it would look like, and it looked like a bloody massacre. I saw having to stop carrying my cigarette butts in my purse because it's tacky and women about to be married don't do things like that. I saw some man getting to know my daughter, getting to live with my daughter, and the nagging fear that some day, maybe, he would go away and plunge her into confusion and a sense of abandon. I saw my daughter and I not being able to hang around eating breakfast in our t-shirts and undies. I saw having to get rid of the worn Persian rug that while once very expensive and classy has since become the victim of spilled milk-shakes, a brief attempt at puppy ownership, newborn puke, hair dye drips. There are frayed tassels on the ends, it smells, and it's mine and I love it. NO man will take this from me, and no man would take me if they knew this came with me.
I tried to imagine the wedding itself: I stopped flat at my family alone-- I don't do family, not really. None of us do. We're just not those kinds of people. I found out my father had a baby because someone saw it on a billboard, and honestly, that was just fine with me. And then there is the matter of babies in general... do I want to have to answer that question over and over again at the reception?
"So, when are you guys going to start planning on a little one?"
We're not. Sorry, hypothetical husband, but it's not happening, you keep that baby-making voodoo away from me. I remember vividly the endless discussions with my long term ex that were eventually a key part in our demise: When were we going to get married? He wanted to have a baby, he was getting to old. "I already have a baby" I explained over and over again. I had gotten my own baby, it's not my job to make them for other people too. I love my child, she's more than enough for me. What do I want with another one? I am not a vending machine, and sadly what I am putting in my uterus becomes, when wed, something that is open to the opinions of another as well. And that's wonderful for people who want children, or even people who are open to the idea-- I, however, simply am not and never will be, and it's not up for debate.
And above all else, it's a little thing that gets me every time: I am not going to wear a diamond on my left ring finger. I have a large green turquoise number rocking the ring finger on my right hand that I've worn since I was teenager, and in more seriously committed relationships I have been known to wear it on my left hand simply to make clear that I was taken and liked it that way. Which in and of itself could be a simple matter, but let's be clear: I am not a simple person, and no one can possibly take the following quirk in any simple way. I would never agree to marry a man who would not get on one knee and place a diamond or some such engagement-looking stone on my ring finger. And yet, I would also not dream of actually wearing that ring save for days that it happened to look good with my outfit and I felt like it. And ultimately, that is about more than just a ring... it is about who I am. I don't know that I could ever completely be one half of a whole. I am more than a fulfilled person with enough of herself to share, I am an overflowing person with too much self to be contained within the confines of two, and I am too selfish with all that I am, the good and the bad, to ever really be able to share it with another person on any terms other than my own... and sometimes those terms may be literally impossible for another person to meet.
This isn't to say I've not been known to be a great girlfriend. It isn't even to say that I have not at one point in my life been essentially married, 7 years of domestic status with the same person. But, in the end he needed more, and I simply wasn't willing to give it. It's not about love, I'm very loving. And it's not about support, I will support the people I love endlessly, I do so on a regular basis. It's about something more abstract. In the beginning of Peter Pan, it talks about how Mr. Darling had almost all of Mrs. Darling, except for one certain kiss at the corner of her mouth that he could never quite get at. And, I've always understood that, but beyond the fantasy world of J.M. Barrie, that kiss isn't one little thing someones wife has... it's that one little thing that one gives to another that those two people should share a life. And I know I have that kiss, coursing through my veins before rushing over my lips, and I have no intentions of sharing it-- I have no interest whatsoever in ever giving it up.
It's hard to explain, but at the end of the day I think about my wonderful beautiful friend Courtney getting married, and I think that is wonderful. It makes me grin, in large part because of the joy I see in her at the very idea of it. But I think for a second about me getting married, ever, and something inside of me gets heavy, hard... I'm filled with a sensation of what I can only call impending doom. When all is said and done, I don't have it in me. I don't have that want to share my life with anyone but my cat and my daughter. And, I don't see anything wrong with that: I have found the love of my life, and it's motherhood, and I am full to the brim. There is no more room for anything else in me... I'm just not the kind of girl, if such a thing sounds even possible, who has ever, or would ever, really dream of being someone's wife.
And I'm glad I know that. I'm glad I can put my loving energy into where I authentically feel the urge to. I'm glad I can not lament my own single status when celebrating my friends pending marital bliss. I'm glad I can entirely submerse myself in time with my daughter, never wishing there was more. I'm glad my rug will always be mine, I'm glad I can wear what ring I want when I want. I'm glad I never have to have another child, I'm glad I don't have to try to figure out family holidays, I'm glad I have cigarette butts in my purse... and I'm glad to be a bridesmaid, and I'm glad someone I love dearly, who wants to be, gets to be a beautiful, happy, wonderful wife.
