“Oh, I get it. March 3, 2012. Three, three and if you add the two and the one it’s another three.” My friend smiled. “That’s nice,” he said.
No, it’s not nice, I thought, snarling. It’s not cute or clever or any of that nonsense. It is just a series of numbers on a calendar and it happens to be our wedding date (not to be confused with that really bad movie, but equally as disappointing).
Of course I’m happy to be getting married, but I wanted to avoid all wedding clichés. My whole life I’ve been a contrarian to avoid any sort of hackneyed theme or superstition and then all of a sudden it comes to determine the rest of my life.
We picked this date simply because we get the winter rate for the wedding package if we book in March. Then I consulted with all of my close friends and family to find out what weekends worked best for them during the month. All signs pointed to early March. I had two weekends to choose from and I thought long and hard about this decision. And in the end, I chose the third.
And do you want to know why I chose the third? It wasn’t to be cute or kitschy in any way. It wasn’t so that we had a fabulous wedding story to tell our friends at the senior center after a riveting game of bingo fifty years from now. I chose the weekend of the third because if I stay on schedule, I will not have my period on that day. Period. That’s it, there’s no other reason.
And now the date is booked and I feel sick to my stomach. We’re going to turn into just another stereotype like those couples that wear matching jog suits or ride two-seated bikes. We’re going to start celebrating Valentines Day and attending church on Christmas because all of the other married couples on our cookie cutter street in our cookie cutter neighborhood go to church on that day.
This is way too much pressure. I just don’t know if I can throw myself into all of these societal norms I have spent my entire life avoiding. Maybe I’ll just send a proxy to the wedding