Sometimes I Don't Want To Talk About My Wedding
During our cake testing, the shop owner asks Seth how he proposed.
"I just asked her," he says, clearly uncomfortable.
Because I'm afraid this woman has the impression he popped the question while we sat in the couch watching Jersey Shore or some shit, I feel compelled to elaborate. I share the details of the proposal—the roses, the Billy Joel, the photos and the little snippets he wrote about each—all while hiding my own discomfort with a smile.
It feels almost too personal to recount such a personal and intimate moment between us to our friends and family, much less a stranger, but it's at least the fifth time I've been asked to.
***
Other women ask me my date. They ask me my venue and my colors and how many bridesmaids I'll have.
"You're wedding planning? It must be all you can think about."
That, and what I have to get done at work tomorrow. How I need to text the friend I haven't spoken to in a week. What time I need to get up to get my run in. If I'm going to get pho carryout for lunch or go to a coffeeshop. The zit forming on my hairline. The way I've sweat through my bra during my hot yoga class. How I need to write something for me, that I actually like, because it's been months and the words have started to feel all crowded up in my chest.
Sometimes I wish it was all I could think about.
***
For what feels like the billionth time, we're discussing the ceremony—or more accurately, what's currently the lack of ceremony. When you strip all the amens out of it, the modern American wedding is bare bones.
Looking to other cultural traditions seems pretentious at best and appropriative at worst. Candle lighting and sand pouring feel too cheesy. We're a flippant couple, but I can't bring myself to be so aloof as to do away with the ceremony entirely. Even if the wedding is mostly a celebration, I reason with Seth, we need to have some sort of ceremony so there's something to celebrate.
Translation: I want to eschew traditional—just not too much.
***
I am walking myself down the aisle.
I am walking myself down the aisle because I am my own person, not the property of my parents. I am walking myself down the aisle because no matter how much my parents may influence my choice of partner—in ways both conscious and unconscious—it is still my choice. I am walking myself down the aisle because no matter how sweet of sentiment lies in the tradition of a father giving away his daughter has become, I cannot ignore its roots in the patriarchy.
I am walking myself down the aisle, and because of it I am worried my dad feels like he's missing out. I am worried it will lead people to characterize our relationship as negative. I am worried people will call me a bridezilla.
Seth will be walking himself down the aisle, and no one will think anything of it.
***
I wonder what Seth's friends said when he told them we were engaged. What do they wonder about, if anything? I wonder how random men he interacts with respond when they hear he has a fiancée. What do they say about it, if anything?
Sometimes I would like to say I have a fiancé, and for no one to say anything.