Just Hold Your Peace, Thanks

Here’s something I have learned since I got betrothed: an engagement ring casts a spell.

The effect it had on me was magical. Suddenly I felt like a door had opened and for the first time in my life I could see a future—a future with this man. I had been so happy that morning, and in the days prior, just living in the present. And now there was a shiny, real future to be happy about. Like when Dorothy opens her door and finds Technicolor waiting outside. That moment when I was ugly-crying on the Brooklyn Bridge, snotting all over the iPhone videos shot by strangers who were capturing the event for posterity—that was John and I stepping through that door, moving towards our brightly colored future.

On my beloved, it’s been an enchantment as well. He talks about what is to come with an excited urgency in his voice. He loves to spend Saturdays looking at houses we can’t afford, he obsessively calculates my commuting time from potential neighborhoods, he talks about our family as if it’s something that we’re waiting for in the mail. He makes our future life together so tangible that it feels like we can go to UPS.com and track it. It will be here any day, the house with the breakfast nook and the window seat. We’ll order the baby on expedited shipping. We will name him John, we will name her Johnathana.

Others have been spellbound as well. My girlfriends want details, have helpful suggestions, and advice that reminds me to focus on the marriage and not the wedding. I love the way my married friends can bring back their own wedding-planning experience, while still loving the moment they are in, kids clamoring to get their attention. I love the way my single friends can get wrapped up in the excitement, and make it feel so fun, making me feel the buzz of excitement--while still offering me unfailing support during what is a shockingly transitional time in my life. I look at them and wonder—when did they get so wise? Weren't we just kids?

My coworkers—well that’s a story. In the nine months following my engagement, four more women have gotten engaged. There will be three weddings three weeks in a row—mine in the middle. I work at a fashion publication, and I can pretty much guarantee this is the only trend I have ever and will ever set in the workplace.

Even my brothers are acting like I am a grown up. It’s unnerving.

"Does she look older to you?"

Yet those aren’t the only spells that have been floating around since John Moses put a ring on it. There have been some ugly spells, too. Like the kind that turned the Beast into the Beast. The kind that Mrs. Shrek got before she met Shrek. Sorry, I don’t really remember their names, and I am too lazy to Google.

It's Fiona, you shithead.

You’d be shocked—no, let me say it this way—you’d be fucking shocked at what people think is acceptable to say to a bride-to-be. Oh don’t worry, pregnant gals, I know you get it, too. And to be fair, maybe my groom gets it, too—but he has an amazing ability to brush it off, while I take it all to heart.

Take, for example, those who dole out so much passive aggression that you want to remind them that it’s supposed to be passive. Those who call your ring “cute” or exclaim “Finally!” and then go in for a hug, acting so relieved that you are not ending up the spinster/slut-living-in-sin that they’ve been saying you would be/are.

Then there are the “helpful” types. The first woman who helped me into a bridal gown, a gorgeous, Vera Wang duchess satin a-line creation, smiled at me in the mirror and said, “You look like a bride!” only a moment before she raised a boney finger and poked at my back, declaring, “Now I assume you’re going to LOSE. THIS. WEIGHT.”

In fairness, if Skeletor had poked my belly, I would have nodded and said simply “Yes, maam.” But my back? Almost every massage therapist who has ever touched between my shoulder blades has declared them "skin and bones" and remarked that I need to build up my musculature there or I will shrivel up like a crone. Even my self-esteem wasn’t low enough to believe her.

"We will not have fat brides!"

Other helpful types: The acquaintances who ask for details about your dress/wedding/bridal party only to explain why you’re doing it wrong, because you’re not doing it like they would.

Also in that category, the “You’ll Sees.” As in, “Oh, you still go on dates? You’ll see. You’ll see when you get married.” Or, “You still think he’s funny? Oh you’ll see.” Sweetheart, you’ll see yourself right off our guest list, and thank you very much.

My favorite wicked spell, though, the one that took me by surprise, was the one that was cast over people that I actually liked. People that, though friends, have proven unable to set aside their own bullshit and feel happy for John and I, and instead feel it necessary to take the wind from our sails. They make bitter comments, poorly disguised as jokes.  Don’t get me wrong—I spent most of my life in dark bars where your bitterness was a measurement of your charm. I surrounded myself with people whose brand of humor was more like Statler’s and Waldorf’s than Kermit’s. So I get it—sarcasm is my native language (you don’t say!) but at the same time, when a friend is happy, well, I honestly am happy for them. And if I can’t be because my own bullshit is in the way, well then I fucking pretend.

Even these guys can pretend.

The jokes about my fiancé needing health insurance and/or citizenship and the remarks that I must have demanded a ring/am just like any other woman obsessed with getting married started the moment we changed our Facebook status to “engaged.”  It should be noted that none of that is true-- John's a citizen, we believe garlic and naps cure anything and therefore insurance is superfluous, and I honestly used to get the sweats when people talked to me about marriage, convinced it wasn't for me. So it's not that I worry they've hit some truth. The thing that upsets me—is…can’t you do better? I mean seriously. If you’re going to be an asshole about us getting married, I would respect you more if you didn’t go for the low-hanging fruit. The clichés.

What I am saying is, don't be a hack about it. 

What’s most offensive to me is not that I have aligned myself with such bitter people over the years--the bitter are my brethren-- but rather that I have aligned myself with such unoriginal bitter people.

If you can't wish us well, then be funny. If you can't be funny, be quiet.  You don't have to speak now. You can forever hold your peace. Trust me--we will all be fine without your input.

I could conclude by telling you how I’ve decided to ignore the negative and focus on the positive. I could say that I am learning from these people the value of believing in myself and the power of my convictions—but if you know me, you know that’s not in my nature. So I will tell you the truth: these assholes sure are making it easy to cut down that guest list.

184 days, people, 'til the real fun begins.