Rules of Engagement

Just a little over 5 months ago Linda and I got engaged. It was a romantic story where I proposed and with one diamond ring transformed my “beer guzzlin’, football lovin’, sex-addict girlfriend” into my current “asleep-by-9pm, stop bighting your nails fiancée” whose holy quest is to find the wedding photographer God would use if he was tying the knot.

However, I am quickly learning that there is more to being engaged than free congratulatory drinks, another Christmas stocking hanging at my parent’s house and adding 3 presents to my Christmas list (her Mom, her Dad and her brother). Welcome to the wedding machine. It gives new meaning to Pink Floyd’s 1975 ballad about entering into a world where fate is predetermined despite your lofty personal aspirations. The voices in my head sing “Woody, what did you dream? It’s alright we told you what to dream.” And although being engaged may feel as different as Tom Glavine being a New York Met, this is well-covered territory by many couples before us. The rules of engagement are better defined than the air space above Iraq…but that’s not saying much.

For example, the number one rule (and the best rule I might add) is that the bride’s parents traditionally host the wedding reception (I have learned that the word “host” is the politically correct word for “pay the bill”). Of course that means that all the RSVPs from the invitations are sent directly to Linda’s Mom, which is not something I am looking forward to. I don’t know about your friends, but my jackweed pals won’t realize that the RSVP is going to Linda’s parents and not me. My lunchbox buddies will be RSVPing with lovely little notes like, “I am going to get so hammered at your wedding!” and other little scribblings like, “I still believe you’re a faggot, but I’ll be there!” I can just imagine the phone calls with my future mother-in-law, “Um, Michael, I received an RSVP from Mr. & Mrs. Dickhead. Do you know which one of your friends that is?” Sadly, I do. Seat them next to the bar.

On the other side of the coin toss, the groom and bride pay for the honeymoon. I’m fine with that – Bayonne, New Jersey is lovely in September. Bayonne fulfills all the requirements the honeymoon websites promote. It’s close, only a 15-minute car ride. It’s affordable, especially if we take the bus or light rail instead of drive. And instead of time-consuming European museums, we can spend the whole time basking in the glow of each other’s love and have sex in hotels that charge by the hour. Call me Mr. Romance. Forget Virginia - Bayonne is for lovers!

And being engaged isn’t just the awkwardness of meeting her close friends you’ve never even heard mentioned in 2 ½ years of conversation, but there is hard work too. It all stems from a rumor I heard that, believe it or not, women are concerned about their weight and appearance. Try not to spill your beer with shock. Of course on the big white wedding day, women want to look their best…and they want their groom to be stunning too. I’m game; I’ll shave that morning. And in the months before the wedding, apparently I’m supposed to give up certain things…like food. By September Linda and I are supposed to look like the perfect anorexic couple. If that were the case, I would dive head first into the wedding cake like a kid with a new pile of leaves. As a side note, any person who has ever met me knows that “anorexic” is not a term people use to describe me, except for maybe Christine “Moose” McGlade during the introduction to the opposite sketches. Oh, You Can’t Do That on Television, how could you leave me?

I have my own theory about losing weight for the wedding. The reason behind the weight-loss is because all your family, friends, and distant relatives you had to invite will be there and you want them all to be impressed with how great you look. Well that’s a bad idea. Then what happens? You go on your honeymoon and gain 15 pounds faster than your freshman year of college. Then for the rest of your life, every time you see someone who attended your wedding they’ll whisper to their spouse, “Wow, he/she really gained weight since the wedding.” That’s not the life I want to lead.

I recommend gaining as much weight as possible before your wedding. Go on a high fat, high carb, and high booze diet guaranteeing they will have to butter up her ass just to fit in the wedding dress. Forget “Big & Tall” stores, I’ll be buying my wedding day outfit from “Big & Goddamn Your Big Tuxedos”. That way, you and your bride waddle down the aisle, go on your honeymoon, come back and hit the gym. Then, every time you see your family & friends for the rest of your life they’ll be saying, “Wow, you look like you lost a lot of weight since the wedding.” Isn’t that a much happier life to lead? One day of people thinking you gained a few pounds versus years of compliments on how great you look. Hey, it’s just my theory.

Besides asking if I’m going to try and lose weight before the wedding, people often ask if we are registered anywhere? After my “Yes, a Republican & an Independent” joke got old, I realized we may have to register at some point. It’s the ultimate deal; you get to tell everyone exactly what you want to receive as a gift. Why hasn’t Santa Claus done this? We are going to register sometime in early 2003 but right now we completely disagree on where to register. Linda wants to go with Crate & Barrel and Fortunoffs. My votes are for the Meadowlands/Giants Stadium ticket office, Hoboken Liquor Outlet and Citibank. Why ask for pots and cookwear when you could be asking for Giants tickets, bottles of Tanqueray, and the gift that keeps on giving – cash.

Linda is slowly realizing how deep my football obsession runs when we celebrated our “minus 1-year anniversary” (before you even ask about the “minus 1-year anniversary”, the answer is “yes, my balls are sewn to the bottom of her purse”). I’m really starting to lose track of our anniversaries. Like most couples, there is the anniversary that we celebrate based on the day we started dating - the 7^th. Then based on our future wedding date there are the monthly minus anniversaries on the 20^th. And of course the 11^th of every month is the anniversary of the day we got engaged. And every now and then for no reason at all Linda breaks out something like, “Did you know it’s the anniversary of the first day you met my co-workers?” I usually just say, “That’s great, sweetie. When is your next issue of Crazy Bride magazine expected in the mail?”

But I handled the minus 1-year anniversary with class. First, I did my research. Apparently there are regimented rules for what to get your wife for every year after you get married. First anniversary is “paper” like a picture or tickets or even a check would work. The second year is cotton, the third year is leather, all the way up to the 50^th that is gold and the 75^th, which I think is The Clapper and Oatmeal anniversary. The easy ones are the 14^th, which is ivory (99 cents on a bar of soap, I can swing that) and the 5^th anniversary, which is wood – so I can just cover my naked self with a big red bow. How was that for a visual?

And despite my intense research, there were no rules that stated what was required for the minus 1-year anniversary. So I am stating the rule here and now for all men across the world to follow (at least those that read this). I declare the minus 1-year anniversary will be known as The Football Jersey anniversary. If you are going to spend your life adding jewels to her wedding band and all sorts of expensive crap, the least she can do is wear a football jersey on Sunday out of respect for your passion. And to make it romantic, feel free to customize the jersey with your favorite team and her future last name (i.e. Linda’s jersey is a Giants jersey with the name “McNamara”. Only problem is we look like fucking tools standing next to each other on Sundays when I wear my Giants jersey)

As for the rest of the rules of engagement, they’re pretty easy. I couldn’t tell you if the ring is suppose to cost 2 months salary before or after taxes (big difference), but I can tell you that after buying it you will wish you were a dishwasher making minimum wage. And details like that wedding announcement in the newspaper? It was a piece of cake. And it was nice to see our names and picture in the paper, but I’ll never catch up to my brother’s record number of times in the police blotter (For a while they re-named one section of our local paper, “God, what did Russ do now?”)

After getting engaged in July, some of the best advice we received was, “Don’t worry too much about the wedding and just enjoy being engaged.” That’s excellent advice and we do love being engaged. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to have a double bacon cheeseburger for breakfast. Hey, September is only 10 months away.