Like most brides-to-be, I have a checklist: schedule a tasting with the caterer, review the florist's estimate, carefully word the invitations, find out whether New York is a no-fault state... Now, hang on -- don't panic on my behalf. Even if you're so inclined, don't congratulate me on my prudence. I don't even live in New York State. But as my fiancé and I have been planning our wedding, I've been writing a novel about a crumbling marriage. I couldn't and probably wouldn't have planned it this way, and yet I find I'm thankful for the odd perspective.
I was unprepared for the rushing wave of attention that accompanies an engagement, and still less prepared for the onslaught of wedding-related solicitation that follows. In addition to the congratulations from friends and family, there have been emails from vendors I've never contacted and postcards from total strangers (who creepily somehow obtained my home address) offering their photographic and musical services on our "big day." I am invited to trunk shows and registry events and entreated to subscribe to magazines all centered on the celebration of me in all my bridal glory. Setting aside for a moment that only a tiny fraction of all this white tulle madness even acknowledges the participation of my groom in this event, it's as if an entire industry were raising the aisle up to meet us. I'm not sure I've ever done anything that has universally pleased so many people. And while my innate suspicion of popular opinion offers some protection against frenzied nuptial giddiness, I begin to understand how one could see this single day, this brief ceremony followed by a meal, as an accomplishment, a moment of arrival, rather than as a lovely milestone marking the beginning of a marriage.
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