In the Beginning...

Some very bestest friends of mine were in town this past weekend, and while hanging out, I told them about a really odd dream I had the night before.  In this dream, I was in a boat attached to a zip line being zoomed through some kind of shipping yard at warp speed.  The boat captain, if you will, was one of those inflatable men things you often see in front of car dealerships, except he looked like a Chinese rice picker, complete with straw hat (except not made of straw because he was one of those inflatable men things you often see in front of car dealerships).  If that weren't strange enough, he kept directing us to watch a group of about fifty Native Americans on jet skis while they performed some kind of synchronized jet ski water dance.  After telling my friends about this dream, they both look at me for a moment like they're trying to figure out whether I'm on drugs or have some genetic mental deficiency, then Melinda goes, "You should REALLY start a blog."  So um...BOO!  I figure this way, my retardation can amuse whomever should suffer the misfortune of stumbling upon my ramblings, and it beats the hell out of talking to my cat (he's quite disrespectful.  When I tell him stories, he tends to lick his ass in the middle of them, and it causes a bit of a disruption to my thought process).  Besides...there's something very Doogie Howser meets Carrie Bradshaw about it that appeals to me.  So here goes...

I've been thinking a lot lately about weddings, and by "lately" I mean incessantly for over a year.  Today, I stumbled across a thread on Pricescope (my huge addiction) regarding women and ultimatums about proposal, and I was fascinated.  Is marriage like milk?  Does a relationship have some kind of secret shelf life with a set expiration date, and if you don't get a ring by that date, everything sours?  I can't imagine the thought process behind that--does it go something like "I love you forever with jewelry but only until March 2, 2014 without a ring" or what?  So many women have these insane expectations.  They want a 3 carat internally flawless diamond ring with a platinum setting, followed by a wedding with 500 people, a Vera Wang dress, and God help the man who proposes without there being fireworks, a violinist, and a gondola ride at sunset with caviar and champagne.  Really?  My husband proposed to me in a park in Savannah after eating Subway--the man had meatball breath, and I can't imagine that I would've loved him any more had he jetted me off to Bali, dropped to one knee on the beach, and proposed via serenade.  I just have to question how much damage these kinds of expectations have on what could otherwise be a perfectly sane, healthy relationship.  How much do these expectations filter into other areas of your relationship?  If your significant other knows you expect that much of a proposal, does he panic cooking dinner?  Does making spaghetti turn into a panic attack at the grocery store worrying over the size of the tomatoes?  So much pressure!  It makes me glad I'm a woman and didn't have to worry about all that drama!  It also makes me really appreciative of the proposal I got.  It was simple. It was funny.  It was us.  And the size of his meatballs was just right.