This week I went to a wedding with Dave.
He’s at the age where everyone he knows is getting married. He sings professionally at every wedding. He’s incredibly talented and he rivals the brides with his compliment count. He’s that good.
And he wants to marry me.
Any wedding he brings me along to, I can’t help but wonder, “Is this for me?”
That thought rushing through my brain is partly due to the current divorce rates, the cost of weddings, and the archaic practice of it all.
I’m the most committed commitment-phobe.
The other part of that thought rushing through my brain is you.
It’s you and your first husband. It’s you and Dad. It’s you and every long-term boyfriend you had after Dad.
To be fair, I could count Dad’s three marriages and the running total of five marriages his parents have had combined. But none of them have been around much and this blog isn’t about them.
It’s about us.
You had your fair share of wedding planning, but weddings are all the same at the root. The processional, the ceremony, the reception: it’s a melding of two lives into one. Then I look at what my wedding would look like: no father of the bride, no mother of the bride, no extended family of the bride.
Maybe I could work out a discount?
On the other hand, Aunt Patty has her wedding dress burning a hole in her closet for me. Dave’s mother has commented that his sister’s new backyard would make an excellent location for a wedding. And Dave would give me a ring if he knew I’d say yes.
But right now I’m working on me.