Previous Engagements

I’ve been engaged a time or two in my life.  Well, okay, 4 times, but I only have made it to actual marriage once. 

The first time was when I was 25.  I was never a princess kind of girl; tiaras and glass slippers never did it for me, but it didn’t take long for the princess wedding monster to rear its lovely head.  The young man who gave me the simple little diamond solitaire was a wonderful fella, at least when a hockey game, or football game, or basketball game, or European soccer game, or…well, you get the idea…wasn’t on the TV.   He came from a big, well-to-do family (for those who don’t understand that term, it means wealthy).  His step-mother, whom I found to be a bit pretentious, especially considering she was Dad’s secretary at one time, jumped right into the role of planner.  She wanted us to get married at the Bedford Village Inn, even though my fiancé and I were flat broke. 

I quickly found that as soon as you announce your engagement, the first question you are asked is when, then where, as if that was all planned the instant I said yes.   Of course I also needed to pick colors, dresses, shoes, meaningless trinkets to give everyone, cake, music, stationary, oh my!  And if I hesitated in any of these decisions, well, was I really ready to marry? But I suppose I wasn’t like most girls who begin to plan their weddings when they are 6.  I decided to wait until I met someone who would ask me.

So off to the bridal shop I went with my intended maid of honor to start looking at wedding gowns.  The saleswomen are eager to start swaddling me in the most frilly, lacey, sparkly gowns they could find in my size.  Again, I’m not a princess kind of girl, but I must admit, I was loving the way those frilly, silly dresses looked on me.  After awhile though they were starting to look the same; same bows, same sequins, same pearls, same silk.  The only differences I was noticing were necklines and trains.  Time to take a break!  Before I could return to the bridal planning though, I decided I didn’t want to spend a lifetime competing with a hockey puck so I gave back the cute little diamond to Mr. Wonderful Fella.

The second engagement was even shorter.  I was 26, pregnant with my daughter and living with a swell guy and his 3 children.  Swell Guy actually turned out to be Mr. Nasty, but I found that out a little too late.  Mr. Nasty’s way of asking me to marry him was to take the children and I out to dinner at Friendly’s then off to the mall (where he never ventured before or since I think).  He strolled right into a jewelry store and told the saleswoman to show me some wedding bands.  That was how he asked.  The children were excited, the saleswoman seemed embarrassed and I resisted the urge to run screaming into the empty mall (silly, stupid girl that I was then).  I picked a simple, no frills set of bands.  Mr. Nasty told me we were not buying those and picked out a much more expensive pair studded with diamonds then told me to charge it on my charge card I had with that particular store.  He would pay me back he said.  I should have known better. 

We had a very short engagement, probably so that I wouldn’t give in to that urge to run screaming into the night.  We got married a couple of weeks later in my sister’s living room in her apartment in Manchester.  The children, my sister and drunken brother-in-law, my sister’s children, my parents, my grandmother and one of my friends were all that were in attendance. There was nobody from his family there.  Our wedding cake was made by my sister, and looked it with sprinkles for decoration.  I cried for hours before my wedding.  I really should have known better.

Fast forward through some really awful times and many desperately sad years to my third engagement: Mr. I’m-Hitting-My-Forties-And-Need-to-Settle-Down.  I had known him for years.  He knew I had a silly little soft spot in my heart for him.  I had the instant ready-made family.  What a perfect set up, no work at all.  He proposed and we went to the jewelers together to have a ring made just for us.  It was big and shiny and heavy.  I was thrilled to finally be marrying this man whom I’d had a silly little soft spot for years.  I still wasn’t much of a princess kind of girl, so we drove around looking at houses instead.  He was very “new age”.  I figured we would end up getting married under the stars in some sort of Reiki hand holding ceremony, but before we could even start planning, he decided he wanted some time to reconsider.  Three months later he turned up on my doorstep asking for the ring back.  Three months after that a mutual friend told me he married someone he met while sweating it out at some Health Club.  Guess the ready-made family just wasn’t “new age” enough.  I still find myself wondering sometimes if he gave her “our” ring.   Even though it was big and gaudy, I really liked that ring.  I miss that ring. 

Not long after that I met Mr. Perfect.  You may say there is no such being, but I say…Oh YES THERE IS!  However, it took him awhile to warm up to the notion of an engagement, roughly 10 years actually.  I’m now pushing 50 and had figured I would be forever unmarried at this point.  Not that it bothers me, I know what I have now is not going anywhere.  No need to sign a piece of paper to confirm what I already know in my heart.   I told people that if he happened to ask, I wouldn’t refuse, but if he never did, that was okay too.  I guess such a blasé attitude about it just comes with age and wisdom (I like to tell myself that anyway).  His proposal was simple.  He simply asked me one day “out of the blue” while I was busy rushing around the house getting things together for a 50^th dinner party we were attending that evening.  I was so surprised my first response was “What did you do?” ready to jump all over him for spending money he shouldn’t have on a silly ring.  Then he showed me the ring, only a ring Mr. Perfect would think to get, and I decided it didn’t matter what he did. 

Surprisingly, the first question most people asked when we announced the engagement was when and where, as if we’d really been planning this all along these last 10 years. I have no dreams of a princess wedding, not that I ever really did anyway.  The closest I ever came to that dream was standing in that bridal shop 25 years ago staring at my reflection when I tried on that first bridal dress.  I do still remember how amazingly beautiful I thought I looked.  But I’ve also learned over the years that a princess wedding is as fleeting as that reflection in the mirror.  It doesn’t take long for the newness to wear off.  It doesn’t take long for the show to be over and the reality to remain. 

I have already had the JP in the living room with only a handful of people present and I’m not up for a repeat performance of that, so my fiancé and I have decided on having a party and we just happen to be inviting a JP.  Now that is my idea of an ideal wedding.  No uncomfortable shoes, dresses or ties.  No worrying over the color of the napkins matching the men’s tuxedo vests.  No overpriced flower arrangements.  No overpriced dresses nobody will ever wear again.  No chicken dance (just when did that ridiculous dance become a wedding staple anyway?!).   

And my glass slippers will be turquoise flip flops.