Give Me Your Tomorrows
Don’t worry, honey, I’m not going to write literary pirouettes about the beauty of the platinum, baguette-cut emerald ring—no diamonds—that you’ll eventually have to get me if I strike it rich and you’re living off my largess (and now that I think about it, I guess I’ll be paying for the ring). I will provide you with a link and my credit card number when that time comes; let’s at least pretend you’re buying it. ;) Size six ring, by the way.
(Kidding!)
My boyfriend’s college roommate is getting married, and in Colorado no less. As thrilled as I was to hear that it would be held in Colorado, my enthusiasm was rapidly terminated as I heard the date: the weekend of the Cherry Blossom 10-Miler. While many, my mother in particular, would chew me out for not attending a wedding with my boyfriend (“It’s a way to get him to think about it with you there!” my mother would yelp in helpless fury, astounded that her daughter would willingly give up the chance to nudge her boyfriend and say, “Hey, that could be us!” as his eyes mist up at the intrinsic tenderness of the ceremony—or not), alas, the running gods demand that I stay and pick up the pace. While IP still may venture forth (don’t worry, Mom, then he’ll have to think about weddings perforce, even if I’m not there!), I will be right here in DC, maybe watching the cherry blossoms bloom. I say maybe because I believe some have already bloomed.
Ah, weddings. The good thing is that I’m approaching the stage in my life where nearly all my friends are already married, so I won’t have to shell out money for gifts and nice clothes much longer. If I’m to get married, I’ll probably do it when some of my friends might be divorcing their first (hey, hate to be a pessimist, but it happens)—I suppose that might mean second weddings, but I’ll deal with that as they (hopefully not) pop up. However, as far preparedness goes, as a woman and an event planner my as-of-yet fictional wedding is pretty much finalized at this point—I know what I want, I know that it’ll be simple, and I know how to make it happen for cheaper than most. I know what I want for my room set-ups (no way you’re going to make me squeeze 10 people at a six-foot round, bub—max is eight, eight!), I know who I want in my party, and I know that I’ll probably have to twist arms to get meal packages modified, but it’s doable. If I have to fight my event manager, so be it: I can do it. I don’t plan to marry with a lot of fanfare, and in my humble opinion the most expensive part of my wedding should be the goddamn honeymoon. Or the booze. Hmm . . . definitely the booze, actually.
One thing I always told myself I wanted to do on the day of my wedding would be to run at least six miles. Of course, if you’re morbid, you could say I run the risk of having a heart attack, getting hit by a car, or being kidnapped on my day, so I shouldn’t do that! However, as all of these things could happen on any given day, I promise that I will run those miles on that day if that day arrives. Running has always been a way to calm myself, orient my thoughts, and come up with new insights. I would hope that, on that day, I would achieve a sort of clarity in order to begin a new life. (I’d get wonderful ideas on how to boss around my husband, who might possibly be IP, and that would be an awesome mental exercise!) The running would ground me; it’s a new life, not just one day, and by treating it like any other running day, I give balance to an otherwise topsy-turvy and high-strung day. I would like to have fun at my fictional wedding—hence the running and the booze. To be safe, it should be in that order.
So why the musings on weddings? I borrowed The Observation Deck from IP—the card I pulled was “Consult the News”; I headed to the Ann Arbor News’ website hoping to be inspired to write what I know, closed my eyes, and randomly clicked. I ended up hitting the wedding announcements section.
Though really, it’s stuff I should know. I’d bet you dollars to donuts that I marry in Ann Arbor. That’s just the way it has to be.
(I think, if I were to teleport into downtown DC at the moment, I’d find IP in a faint wheeze at his desk—I’d better bring whiskey from the open bar with me so I can revive him.)
