Three-Year Itch

Mawwage is what bwings us together today. Another high-school acquaintance has “tied the knot” (hate that phrase…who ties knots except sailors?), and the alarm on my life clock is buzzing again. Well, it was buzzing until I threw the whole mess against the wall.

This former classmate is also a former neighbor. Our moms carpooled us to school for a couple of years, until Ellie got her driver’s license. Then, it was school-bus time for me. I could’ve asked her for rides, but as a middle-school lackey, I hardly knew how to approach a sophomore. While I was struggling with an unforgiving puberty (sponsored by Clearasil), Ellie had already passed Algebra I, purchased tampons, and dated a senior. I could only bow, Wayne and Garth-style, before such accomplishments.

And yet, now 27 doesn’t seem much older than 24. Not to me, anyway. As I chatted with Dad about the impending nuptials, he said, “She waited a long time to get married, didn’t she? I guess people are marrying later nowadays.” It was all I could do not to drop the phone and book a church.

“There is a big difference between 24 and 27,” a friend from work assured me. Maybe so. But in the next three years, I must find a decent guy, date him, live with him, become engaged to him, decide DJ vs. band, and get married. So, um, can anyone set me up?

To make matters more complicated, the longer I remain single, higher I push my fantasy Prince Charming on his white steed. Really, he’s not riding a white steed anymore -- he’s in a white Porsche convertible. Three years ago, I might have dated a guy who occasionally used the word “irregardless.” Now, I don‘t think I would. PC also has to fold his own laundry, wear Right Guard, and know the complete lyrics to “Anything Goes” (without being gay). Delightful, delicious, delusional.

If I must be realistic, the idea of marriage isn’t as appealing to me as a wedding. Several single-female friends and I have devoted an embarrassing amount of time to detailing our weddings-to-be. Who cares about the groom….what kind of cake do you want? What style of dress? How many bridesmaids? What about the first dance at your reception? To this last question, I’ve heard answers ranging from Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” to Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine.” I’m deciding between “Let’s Stay Together” by Al Green and “You Are the Sunshine of My Life” by Stevie Wonder. Sappy, yet grooveable. I also like Bill Withers’ “Just the Two of Us,” but there's no upstaging Mini Me.

Once the wedding is over, it’s “for better or for ‘You left the toilet seat up again.’” Not so glamorous. For an only child, I believe I’m reasonably good at sharing. But I prefer to have the whole bed to myself. Maybe I can get one of those Donna Reed, twin-bed arrangements.

Good thing I have three years to prepare. Okay, two years, two months, and three weeks. Approximately 811 days. I’ll call the caterer.