Bride Elect (Evolution of a Bridezilla)
Chapter Thirty-Nine—39 and a Bride
I was told once, by a young family member 16 years my junior, that she wanted to be married at least by the age of 25 because, in her opinion, there was something kind of tacky or even sad about getting married in your thirties. I should clarify, I was 35 at the time, and she was 19, and while both of us were in serious relationships, neither one of us had yet to get engaged. My response to her opinions was “Excuse me?!”
She back pedalled a little, by stating these standards were ones she held for herself—and didn’t necessarily to apply to others—present company included. It was one of those moments when a person in her thirties might sigh and say “what-ever” .
To my mirth, I had pleasure to witness the universe working to show this young woman some stunning examples of circumstances where being a bride older than twenty-five was stunning, joyous, and classy. It would turn out that 2012 would be the year where three generations of women in my family would get engaged. Ironically, the youngest bride elect, would be the first to get engaged, but the last to get married.
My auntie stunned us all in early December with a change in her relationship status on Facebook. She went from being “single” to “engaged”. None of the family in Winnipeg saw this coming. My auntie enjoyed a very happy marriage that ended tragically too soon thanks to cancer. We all knew that she was too young to spend the rest of her life as a widow, but what we didn’t know is that she had started dating again. Without having benefit of her telling me the whole story at this point, I can only offer my impressions of events. This relationship snuck up on her. One moment she was enjoying an innocent friendship, the next minute feelings were doing a 360 and heading full speed toward something stronger.
I could relate, and I was too happy for her to judge. I was also too shell-shocked. Not only did her engagement sneak up on us, but so did her wedding. My auntie only spent 14-16 days as a bride-elect, and on the day many predicted the end of the world via the Mayan Calendar, my auntie embarked upon a new life. The two remaining bride elects in our family sat there, eating her dust.
Most days, unless there was some idiot there to remind me, I didn’t pay much attention to my age. I have always been that way. When I wake up in the morning, I feel exactly like I did when I was seven, at least until I move my body. Despite the all the cricks and pops, I do not feel, nor act, my age. It could be shear, undiluted delusional behaviour, but I do not think I look like a 39 year old. By extension of that belief, I feel that I will make for a young and vibrant looking bride.
One girl I know, on her 24th birthday, told me she was starting to feel ‘old’. I couldn’t believe my ears! I did not feel like that now, but I also couldn’t recall feeling that way when I was her age. I know there were days when I was that age, I felt pretty crappy—but that was circumstantial. Unlike this girl, when I was 24, I was single, unemployed, substitute teaching, and in no position to be buying a house. This girl, on the other hand, was employed full time, engaged, and just recently bought a house with her fiancé. She seemed not only to be up against less challenges, but the challenges she was facing, she had someone to share the burden with. What on earth was going on with her to make her feel “old”? Puzzling.
I guess, like beauty, age is in the eye of the beholder. I simply told this girl to be careful with her comments, because if she is “thinking out loud” that 24 is “old”, then that is exactly what she will be—and long before her time at that. I also informed her, that the last I checked, I wasn’t “old.”