Okay, I confess: I had one. Well, have. I didn’t decide on it until a few days ago. And the other date I had picked a few years ago was a year or so before it came and went. But the true one I’ve had for quite a while.
You remember when everyone was going around worried about what was going to happen on 06/06/06? Forward planning brides were getting ready to be married–on 07/07/07. They were ensuring venues and in the gym trying to slim down and fit into dresses. I was working, two jobs actually. On both dates. I wasn’t seeing anyone and had no reason to believe I would be married on 07/07/07; however, it’s a perfect date, you must admit. Seven is one of those numbers in the Bible that signify completion–a specific kind of completion, but I’d have to ask my minister again which one it was.
A new completion number/perfect date is coming up. As soon as I realized it was coming, I thought “what a wonderful day to get married,” with the same detached resignation to its impossibility of having anything to do with my life as I would think “360 million dollar lottery? That would be nice.” I’ve never bought a lottery ticket.
I’m not getting married on 10/10/10 either. (Yes, that’s the next perfect date I was mentioning).
I think it’s funny that I’ve been so detached from dates, seasons, rings, locations, etc. for a wedding when I am obsessed with them–watching them on TV, that is. Preferably Platinum Weddings (if I’m to fantasize or live vicariously, I might as well shoot for the top!). I don’t like to attend weddings, be in weddings, and to be honest, I dread aspects of my own wedding (I’m not a center of attention girl; I melt gratefully into the background. I’m not relishing everyone’s eyes on me).
But maybe it’s more than that. For example, I love babies…love, love, love babies…especially the chubby ones whose chubby little bodies seem made of playdough, with big dimples and the two teeth grin, aged around six months. I’m curiously detached, however, from the prospect of actually having children. Yet I love watching Teen Mom, & used to devour Runway Mom (they stayed so slender except for that bump).
Getting married and having babies is a spectator sport to me. I REALLY never expected to ever participate in it, and as such, I have no more interest in planning a wedding, at this point, than I do in actually examining remains a la Bones.
Not that I don’t want to be married and have babies, mind you (or baby…one might be cool); I just think psychologically, I still don’t think it’s going to happen. I’m auditioning cats for my spinsterhood as we speak. That seems like the more real possibility. That sounds depressing to you, maybe, but to me it sounds…factual.
In other words, I’m still not sure I’ll ever get married, but I am sure that if I do, it won’t be about the wedding, but the marriage. I have no high hopes for Vera Wang, Valenti, or Monique L’huillier, just love, fidelity, and commitment. I’d rather go to the courthouse with someone who really loved me than have a platinum wedding with someone who only likes me or thinks I suit. (Although, I want to be married by a Church of Christ minister, and preferably in a church–which, along with wearing white (I deserve it!)–are my only real preferences) I am learning each day what I really need in a mate to feel able to share a life with him, and the process is eye opening, to say the least. What I’m discovering will still be important to me in 50 years bears little resemblance to things that were on my “list.”
What I am sure of though, is that I’m going to be a very successful published author one day, who can make a living off of it–not because I want the fame & extreme wealth, but because I want to do what I love full time. I know I will always talk a little too much (working my way towards that little, lol). I know that I am working on not saying I used to and I want to as much as I am doing those things. That feels right.
Save the date: June 1st, 2010–I go back to writing an entry every single day!
***wrote part of this April 119th, so it’s a few day before then I thought of 10/10/10.