Engaged, Week the First

This is not how I imagined being engaged would be.

Keep in mind, however, that I also thought that when I turned 25 I'd be a famous writer and dating a tall, dark Englishman named Nigel or Ian, and once I thought I could fit into a size 14 dress when I was a size 16.

Anyway, being engaged is both terrifying (wedding plans) and interesting (contemplating entire life spent with a person who is not Vin Diesel). I think i'm adjusting accordingly. But as in most things, there is a price to be paid.

So far, the tally looks a little something like this:

• One angry friend (apparently being asked to be a hostess is a "slap in the face")
• 2 frustrated parents (my mother and his for not being able to invite every relative within 6 generations, or all of their business associates/friends/etc. they want to show off to

Hurrah.

The good news? I think I might be over the "Great Expectations" portion of the madness, which basically entailed me comparing every detail of the wedding I think i'm expected to have versus the (considerably less expensive and less fancy) wedding that we will have.

It was like comparing Faded Glory to Badgley Mischka; me to Iman. There's just no comparison.

And for some reason (maybe wedding Karma nipping at my buttcheeks?), I felt that my family and friends (especially the harshly critical slapped-in-face hostess/friend(?)) would similarly find me wanting, and somehow unworthy (of what, I'm not sure) if I did not have the wedding that is expected of me (i.e. fashionable, upscale, a little retro and quirky, smart in every way -- especially decor). For the record, we can't afford mildly intelligent, much less smart and upscale. We are the Slum Village of engaged persons: there's so much potential there, but we just can't get it together to do the really big stuff.

So there I was, obsessing because I had this vision of close friends and family shaking their head and pooh-poohing (is that spelled correctly?) my nuptials much in the same way a family collectively clucks their tongues at the ne'er do well cousin who just can't seem to find a job and move out of his momma's house, and he's 37 years old. Oh, poor Gina, she just couldn't do it, could she? And she's so creative any other time!

It was unbearable. Expectations on one side, Cold Hard Reality (read: budget) on the other. And in the middle are about 40 Bridal magazines (read: bridal porn) telling me that the joy for the rest of my life depends on me having The Right Caterer TM , The Right Place Settings TM, The Right Flowers TM, or The Right Dresses TM.

Of course, before I got engaged, my happiness apparently rested upon getting The Right Ring. (Thanks, DeBeers!)

I did not, of course, get The Right Ring, but I'm engaged and happy just the same. And I'll admit to some mourning of the loss of The Dream Ring, but the more I look at my ring, the more I realize that the reality is -- unexpectedly, I'll admit -- better than the fantasy.

I wish the spectacle didn't have to matter so much, or that people wouldn't judge the marriage or the couple's worth by the amount of pate at a reception or how ornate the place is, or how expensive the tab will be.

When did the show of the wedding become more important than the meaning and quality of the marriage?

My guess? when the Wedding Industry/Cartels realized that next to sex, peddling love is one of the most lucrative games out there.