Who is this person I want to murder?
If you're engaged, odds are it's your fiance. It's surely not your girlfriend. No way. You loved your girlfriend. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with her. You felt so strongly about your girlfriend that you got down on one knee, and speech or not, you asked her to marry you. ("Yes!" she exclaimed excitedly, as you move on to the next paragraph / "No way!" she yelled disgustedly, as you skip to the bottom of this post)
"Yes!" she exclaimed excitedly. Hooray! Call all of your friends and family. Let them know what a happy occasion this is in your life. Really relish the moment, because for the rest of this engagement, shit is about to go down hill. Down down down down hill.
Fast forward five months. You're half way through the engagement. Half way to being married from the time you proposed. And now you loathe everything about the very same person you were in love with five months ago. What the heck, you ask yourself, this person used to be a good time. Well guess what, now she's a bride-to-be, and brides-to-be are the terrorists of love.
The bride-to-be wants her wedding, and since it's her wedding, you say "It's all yours, babycakes, do your damage." Inside, you know that it's not really all hers, it's at least 6% yours, but who cares? You give this one to her. She's excited. Let her have her wedding. And then she starts to tell you all of the ideas she has: Where she wants it, who she wants there, what she wants to dance to, what she wants to eat, where the honeymoon will be, what color the ladies will wear, what color the men will wear, the number of people at each table, the number of your friends that aren't allowed to come, the type of frosting on the cake, and where to register for gifts. Discussed these issues with your lady? Tip of the iceberg, fellas.
You didn't quite like the place she had picked out. You don't really understand why all of these people have to come. You don't give a shit what you're dancing to, because you'll be at the bar, but she's already chosen the bar menu, so maybe you'll end up dancing, after all. Blech. Deep in your heart, you know you won't actually get to eat any food, but you still have your own ideas. ("I don't care what we eat," you say, as you move to the next paragraph / "I have some ideas about the menu," you say as you skip the next paragraph)
"I don't care what we eat," you say. "I honestly think whatever choice you make will be the right one." Congratulations! You have a happy bride, and your story is over.
"I have some ideas about the menu," you say, because it's only natural to have opinions. And anyway, she's been saying over and over again that she wants you to weigh in on these issues. She wants to know your opinions on everything. So finally, after letting her mediocre decisions go on forever, you speak up, because you know you know best. "No way in hell are we having a breakfast sandwich table," she says. Just like that, the one thing you cared about most is shot down.
Now that you've lost one fantastic idea to the love terrorists, you start to compensate for it by coming up with other fantastic ideas. You start to care about every aspect of every aspect. You have opinions on issues you didn't even know existed. More than that, strong opinions! Because if you don't, she's just gonna run away with this whole thing. So let the fighting begin. And fight you will, until the very day you're fighting about.
You're only half way through. It's only going to get worse. Everyone says it's only going to get worse. So you dread the next five months. And when you look at your special gal's face, the face you used to take solace in, you're filled with violent rage. This can't be healthy. But hey! You're engaged, it's only natural. If you can make it through this, you can make it through anything. You still really want that breakfast sandwich table, though...
"No way!" she yelled disgustedly. You lucky bastard.
Posted by Rick Swanson at 9:09 AM