The first time one of your friends gets engaged

Wow! Pow! Kazam! One of my good friends is engaged. Wasn’t I just on here like, yesterday saying I felt old? Well. I continue to feel old.

Here’s the thing. Weddings are in the air, I’ve been saying it for weeks now. My aunt is getting married, and as a bridesmaid (and my mother is the maid of honor) I’ve been pretty involved, doing all the necessary swooning and dress testing that is required of me. Thinking about weddings so much had inspired my boyfriend and I to start speculating seriously, for the first time, getting married ourselves. In a few years, of course, after we graduate and live together for a bit.

But now–now! My 21-year-old friend is engaged, and has set a date–for June!!! He’s getting married in three months. She’s not even pregnant. This is just what they want to do, and the thing is, we all support him. He’s not even being so crazy. He’s graduating in May, why not, right?

Marriage doesn’t mean much nowadays, so why not just do it for the benefits? If you’re planning on long term anyway, and love each other anyway, and are living together anyway, and own a cat together (like they do) anyway…


How am I so old that getting married seems like a normal thing to do? A bit early, sure, but nothing crazy. What!?


I’m happy for him. I really am. How surreal. How surreal.

A to L: Left

He loved her so much, but she was so perfect and he was terrible at everything. He knew he could barely write a word, and while he could type alright it was nothing compared to how her calligraphy scrawled across the page, how she could sketch perfect faces, how she could handle chopsticks with an amount of ease he could never even manage with a spoon. He would stay still, holding a phone or a drink or simply hidden from view as she made grand gestures, the life of the party and the focal point of the board room.

At home, she was just as lovely, chopping vegetables for Saturday lunch as he did nothing but hold the bowl, wishing he could help. After lunch they relaxed with television and he handled the remote, but when it started acting up she took control and clicked each perfect button with finesse.

They had a date at the museum to go to that night after lunch and television. After dressing he painted her nails for her, messy, all over her cuticles. She didn’t mind, and painted his, perfect, clear and smooth. He tried to fix hers a bit but they were out of time.

The left in love with the right, the wrists not having a clue, the rest of the body nothing but a vessel. Both hands run through their owner’s hair then sit folded in her lap, the left over the right, holding her tight while he can.

The woman with the loving hands met her boyfriend at the door and extended her perfect right hand for him to hold. Of course, the right…The boyfriend shook his head and spoke softly, the woman raised both hands to her tearful eyes. The boyfriend dropped to his knee and took out a small box. The two hands tried to dry her face but the tears came too quickly.

Then, to both hands’ surprise, the boyfriend took the left in his, delicately lifted the third finger, and slipped on a diamond ring.

Every person, every hand, every jewel in every crown in the museum admired him and his new diamond ring. The world changed for the left hand…he was the star of the night and the rest of the year. He got shown off to people, now.  He still couldn’t hold a spoon, but he sported such a beautiful ring. He still couldn’t use a pen, but he gleamed with importance.

Best of all, in left’s happy new life, the right hand held him more. She entangled their fingers together, she played with his ring, she squeezed him tightly. And later, when he was granted a second beautiful ring, she helped him carry a bouquet of flowers into their new, married life.