Wife in training.

Wife. Wiiiffffe. wifewifewifewifewifewifewifewifewifewifewife. Say it fast and it doesn't sound like English anymore, maybe an exotic type of housefly grub. Certainly not anything someone would actively choose to be. But here I am, the caterer booked, the dress altered, the ring sized, the wedding coordinator sending me War and Peace-long emails that start like,"If this was my wedding..." Yes there have been the dreams of tsunamis (we both had that one on the same night), the one where the florist is in charge of doing my hair, the ground falling out from underneath, but I'm still in the game. Why? The boy, obviously. My parents, interestingly.

The boy is the most beautiful man I've ever met, inside and out. He' s the kind of person who kinda scares me sometimes he's so good. How he flosses every night, finishes tasks after he starts them, gets checked out by men more than I do. And he's in that category of sickeningly talented people who is good at everything he does, like juggling, math and making the four year old diva upstairs fall head over heels. But then he gets into his mysterious broody, cranky sessions, like a tropical depression suddenly creeped in overhead, and I feel better about not flossing, eating meatloaf at 11 PM and trying to be a wife to such a fascinating creature. And then there are my parents who will be celebrating their 35th wedding aniversary next year. Their love is a force of nature. A big F-you to starter marriages, red-state divorce statistics, and Brad Pitt and his claim that people aren't meant to stay together forever as he expertly juggles third-world mistress orphans on-camera. Maybe he is right. He probably is. But my parents make a compelling argument for why staying together is so...wonderful. My mother told me The Secret behind their marriage the other day. Don't let anyone ever tell you marriage is easy. I was having my hair cut by a 29 year old hipster with no shoes on who proudly confessed to having been married and divorced twice. (It must be hell trying to keep up with trends at Fred Segal) he said that once the passion died, what was the point?

It's exactly the point, my mother would contend. That's when the hard work really starts, when two people jockeying for mirror space and drinking out of the milk carton have to get creative, resourceful, brave. Anbody can cut and run. It takes a soldier to stay in it for the long haul. My mom told me that that on her wedding day, she didn't think she could love my dad anymore than she did at that moment. She said it is staggering to witness, after the fights, the gravity, the seasons, years, taxes, cat hair, just how much more she does today.

And that's why I am marrying the boy.