I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t given too much thought to the overall wedding process. It’s always been one of those things that I knew I’d experience when the time was right, but I haven’t fantasized about what it’ll be like to take a knee and ask her to trust me with the rest of her life, or how I’ll be as a husband when it’s all said and done. I’m kinda scared. Not in a sh*t my pants sort of way. But more so, the “will I be a better man than I am today,” and “will I meet all the expectations she’s had in her head but never confessed” sorta way. The easy and reassuring answer for you to offer me is “You’ll mature. You’ll be ready.” I know what I’m supposed to do, but I also know who I am. Sometimes those things don’t jive.
My sense of humor will always be raunchy. My love for all things scientifically fictional like Fringe will remain. My desire to eat fried when I should be eating fiber will triumph. My ability to shut down and go emotionless will always be my mutant ability. I don’t know what obstacles will pop up along the way and prove to be the true test of the man that’s evolved to the point of lifelong commitment. I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back my Pisces nature. For real though, I’m less concerned about my ability to raise my kids than my ability to keep it G on the altar. Some sh*t is just too beautiful for dry eyes.
One thing I’ve thought about more, but continues to give me heartburn, is the thought of my wedding day. Yeah, I think about it. I don’t think about her throwing flowers over her head or me tossing something in the air that dictates the next chosen one. But I do think about what that day will be like. I think about who’ll be there, and if I’ll secretly vomit or have a seat on the porcelain before walking out head held high and eyes real dry. And though I haven’t thought too much about marriage in the past (lying), there are a few things I’m still mulling over in my head today.
How Willl the Japanese Handle It if I End Up Marrying Bridezilla?
In the midst of a cookie-baking, confidential, “I’m listening to every word you say” session at work, a coworker shared with me all the frustrations of preparing for her upcoming wedding. She wasn’t Bridezilla, but her mother was. And even though the conversation wasn’t about me, I couldn’t help but have a moment of selfishness.
I don’t mean this the wrong way, but some chicks are like gremlins. Never give them a ring after dark, otherwise you’ll see them turn into something unfathomable.
As supportive as I can be, I can’t help but think about being engaged and having to weather the storm that’s my soon to be wife…who’s currently living in reptilian flesh. How will I handle her fits, demands, complaints, stories about dresses without showing me any of the dresses, and tense phone calls while I’m watching the Knicks strive to get to the NBA finals? I’ve seen every inch of her from head to toe, front, back, and side to side…while she was 5’4 to 5’9. But what happens when she’s 280’2? How supportive and tolerant will/can I be? Ahhhh, the agony!
Who Will Be the Best Man and Who Will Be the Groomsmen?
I don’t have any childhood friends. Of course this is making the assumption that I’m considering people that I did hoodrat things with when I was under twelve. I have a couple cousins that I keep in contact with to this day. But other than that, all I have from my childhood is Facebook. And when I’m scrolling through pictures, timelines, and status updates from people that have found me despite my best attempts to hide (eff you, privacy settings), I can say that none of them will be in my wedding.
The greatest friendships and hetero relationships I’ve established have been in college + 1. I’ve got one friend from high school that had me in his wedding and continues to reach out to me to this day. I sucked at keeping in touch, but I can see having him there. Everyone else, for the most part, is up in the air. Wait. How many groomsmen can I have? There’s no limit? Oh okay. Then I guess I’ll have 11 dudes up there because I don’t wanna offend anybody. Trying to collect all those suit measurements from tardy negroes though…eh. I guess I’ll have to be Manzilla.
Will My Mother Be There to See It?
My mom never pressures me about marriage or having grandkids. My youngest nephew has kept her occupied and kept me jealous. But her not pressuring or reminding me to make good use of my DNA doesn’t mean I don’t think about having her at my wedding. I’d love for my dad to be there too, but there’s nothing I can do about that. All I can do is look up to the sky and thank him for living the lessons that he didn’t know he taught.
But momma…it’s a different story. I see her giving me and my wife a hug. I see her recalling stories of embarrasing years past. I see her being happy having had the opportunity to see all of her children get married.
She didn’t work hard for me to flounder on the beach of deferred dreams. She worked hard to turn me into a man that’s confident in his ability to take care of one woman for the rest of her life. She needs to see that her hard work paid off. I’m doing my best to not have it any other way sans rash decisions. In the mean time, I’ll keep thinking, dreaming, and anticipating. I’m sure it’ll end up better than I ever could’ve imagined.
I could talk about my questions on being a good father, but that’s a different post in itself. What are your thoughts? Do you know who you’ll have there if/when the day arrives? Do you think about how you’ll handle it? If you been through it already, what were your thoughts? All other comments are welcome!
Nah Chill. The Kiss Won’t Begin with Kay,