He asked, I said YES, we went fishing.

He asked. 

I said yes. 

We went fishing. 

And that’s exactly how I announced to the world (well, at least to my Facebook community) that I was engaged.

Sure I wanted people to know that I’d finally found him. You know, ‘him’, the one, that elusive man that is meant to be our all and everything. After all my experimenting, not so savoury past relationships, Xenna war cries that I don’t need no man and a small burst of what I thought was sexual liberation, I wanted people to know that this guy here, was the one but I didn’t want a fuss. Lets not get all gushy and overly sentimental, we can’t have any of that now.

Parts of me actually felt sick announcing it to the world. The part of me that hates to fail, that part that goes on a diet but doesn’t tell anyone, instead sneaks off to the privacy of my own home to munch desperately on carrots and protein shakes, while resighting Anthony Robbins affirmations and praying to the god of skinny bitaches that he (oh Yes this god is a man for sure) bless me with the will power and genetic makeup to fit into a size 12 pair of levis. For if no one knows I’m attempting my 14th diet this decade, no one will know I failed…again, if those stubborn Kg’s don’t move. No matter that it could potentially be helpful to have a few supportive folks around…I’d rather sit in the dark, gagging on celery juice, struggling to keep up the cheery demeanour while coveting my colleges morning tea and no doubt consuming the calories through some sort of thought osmosis, a special power possessed only by those of us on the cuddly side. Yes, this part of me felt sick announcing to the world that I was engaged, engaged to be married! 

Couldn’t I just declare my love for this man secretly, cant we just joyfully wallow in each other privately and on my death bed after we have managed 50 years together announce that we are married and committed to each other…after the fact, when we know for certain this thing is going to weather the ravishes of time? When we have succeeded at this marriage thing.

I only want to do this once, as it should be, you know, like the fairy tales, find your true love, marry him and live happily the ever after in a dream castle, paved with glitter and Disney induced ideals. Like Cinderella, Snow White, Ken and Barbie, although I must say, that my Ken doll drove off in the back of my brothers Tonka truck and Barbie responded by inviting her girlfriends over for a celebratory PJ party, cut her hair short and sported some very badly drawn anchor tattoos, etched into her plastic with Biro. This fairy-tale is a one-time thing, isn’t it? And that, right there in the reality of daily life, equals a lot of pressure.

 As these words fall out of me onto the paper, I can hear someone yelling in the distance, ‘Hypocrite, you bloody Hypocrite’. It’s the realist in me, the one who has supported friends through marriage breakups and who encouraged friends to take the plunge and follow their hearts. The part of me that believes in living in the moment, honouring what feels right at this point in time.

‘Girl, what have you got to lose, you love him, and you want to commit to him, then just go for it.’ My own words come hurtling back at me and I’m rendered motionless by their weight. Yes, girl what are you afraid of?