In my high school gym class, they taught us how to dance. This was bad of them, having gym. Why is there gym?
If you immediately have an answer for this, you’re part of the problem.
I hated changing in the locker room. Before high school, I’d heard reports that they forced students to shower after gym. My fear lingered. I kept expecting the gym teacher to step into the room or unfold himself out of a locker and say, “Strip.” Those who remained clothed would be undressed violently by the nude and then dragged into the communal shower.
I got married in June 2018. In November of that year, a woman named Erin posted a photograph of my husband and I walking down the aisle after saying “I do,” with the caption “No… just, no.”
To this day, I sometimes wonder who this woman is and how she got a photograph of my wedding. The rules of the Facebook group state that you must block faces unless you have sourced the photograph from a public source… and our faces were scribbled out. Had they not been, I would have assumed she took the photo from my public Instagram…
One of my best friends is getting married next summer, which means she spends every weekend planning her dream wedding. She’s 38, and both she and her partner are getting married for the first time. They are a great fit, and both are over the moon for each other, so I couldn’t be happier.
But there are a few things I wish I could tell her about wedding planning.
First of all, a wedding and a marriage are two very different things. I’ve been to beautiful weddings where the marriage didn’t last a year, and one of my good friends…
When I say I’m getting married, it’s all giggles and excitement from co-workers, former sorority sisters, mere acquaintances. Then it’s a barrage of questions (Can I be a bridesmaid? Will there be an open bar? Am I invited?), loudmouth opinions (My cousin had her wedding at this venue and you should too; If it were my wedding, I wouldn’t have a first look; I would never pick that color for bridesmaid dresses), and blatantly rude assumptions (Soon you’ll be having babies!).
The hardest expectation to shake is that I’ll be taking my husband’s last name. Every time I hear an…
I tried to talk her out of it.
“Weddings are a waste of money,” I said. “Why don’t you just elope?”
As a future mother of the bride, I sucked. I was supposed to get all teary-eyed at the thought of my daughter donning a white dress to walk down an aisle. Instead, I gave the impression my thoughts were focused on the bottom line. But what we talk about when we talk about money and weddings is so much more than dollar signs.
So yes, the expense of a wedding bugged me. But what bothered me more was the…
My entire marriage was a lie.
I don’t mean that my ex-husband was a jerk or a cheater. I mean that literally no one knew I was married except for the three people who attended my tiny little ceremony in the snow on New Year’s Eve of 2005.
Not even my mother knew about my marriage. Why? Because she put so much effort and work into planning my actual wedding, and I didn’t want to take that away from her.
I’m Canadian and I met my American husband many moons ago. We carried on a long-distance relationship for…
“Will you marry me?”
“What’s this?” I said, holding a too-small silver ring that looked nothing like one I would have chosen. It took a moment for it to sink in that this was it — this was one of those Life Moments people talk about, and I needed to sit up straight and pay attention and think of something memorable to say and why hadn’t I penciled in my eyebrows today?
“What do you mean?” he laughed. We were sitting outside a small café just off the scenic path we were biking. It was my perfect engagement scenario: no…
On August 12, 2018, I married my beautiful wife in Vancouver, British Columbia. That sentence sounds carefree, wonderful, and full of flowery imagery, but there were a lot of intense things happening before, on, and after that date.
Here’s a summary of what was going on before:
There were signs that would have made a more superstitious bride nervous. My engagement ring gave me a rash. It was not just a slight shade of pink. This was a crimson mother of an itch with screaming white bumps that pulsed with each fidget.
My fiancé Mateo* had borrowed money from his parents to buy the sliver of a white gold band with diamond chips. When my friends asked to see the ring, there wasn’t much to inspect.
“That’s nice,” they’d say, sizing up my hand in the same way I reacted when my grandma gave me…