At a colleagues wedding, we watched from the bachelors’ corner as the otherwise very self-assured groom fumbled just about everything; the vows, the lifting of the long wedding gown, the not tripping on it, the champagne bottle-opening, the keeping in the step and Ooh, feeding the bride with cake.
The agony of it, as guests watched, and laughed heartedly, was the gist of the matter. Is your wedding not supposed to be the best day in one’s life, especially after the hectic organization three month or so routine, only to become the butt of wedding jokes?
Why should weddings be hell on earth, I hear ladies saying dream wedding, please. No wonder men fear commitment. The way people treat a marriage is like it is a ritual of death.
Girl smiling all the way, hooking her hand into her new catch, I have you now FOREVER, no more tricks. See even God knows about it! Then the ring on the finger is like a metal ring on the neck, with a leash, you go where I want you to go.
You stay if I feel like it. Male members of my family, married and unmarried but on the way to marriage, have this joke they like to recite on every family wedding, when their wives/fiancées are out of earshot.
“Look, you are just going to put a rope around your neck” – Read marriage is like committing suicide, followed by the characteristic man laughter and gloating.
Even better, at a staff meeting, boss notices that colleague, about to marry, is atypically quiet and observes, “Boy, why are you so worried” He continues.
“Look, every man makes his mistakes and its time to make yours.”
No wonder men fear the aisle. It’s hell! Besides, the women know how to fox us into marriage. They visit, and leave a little more cloth everyday and by the time you know, your garments in the wardrobe have no breathing space.
Your toothbrush is fast changing location and the socks, well, they just disappear all together. Before you know, you slip into the comforting routine of ready ironed clothes on Monday morning, selected prior without your advice, plus shiny black shoes, socks and you begin to drop the hints that since the Friday to Monday weekend leaves only few days between, she could as well come we stay.
Move in permanently. It does not only save you the fuss of a bone breaking wedding preparation but also helps you avoid the big commitment decision, to marry or not to marry. It falls into your hands, hot with responsibility, and you have nothing but accept the trouble and get used to it.
No more Friday evening all-night bar-hopping routine, lest sixteen intimidating WEA R U? text messages coming after every after half an hour to hound you home and the please-honey-open pleas in the wee hours of the morning, in your own house.
No more late evening calls from ladies of gentlemen with stereo voices. No more soccer with the boys. Quality time together becomes the new fixture on the daily timetable, which is all the time outside regular eight to five working hours. Phew, just come we stay. What choice does a man have? Have a commitment-filled Sunday.