tick tock, tick tock

I spent Easter dinner with extended family at my cousin’s suburban home. She and her husband got married almost four years ago, and they’re now raising two beautiful boys – a one year old and a two month old. They live in a spacious house, with a big backyard, and they’ve even got a mellow yellow lab. By the end of the evening I had succeeded in completely and totally romanticizing their life/ lifestyle. On the car ride home, after holding that little baby for a good part of the evening, I was aching to advance my life by four years, when I might have a chance of starting a family of my own.

Back in my apartment, I flicked on the light and stood by the answering machine listening to a message from one of my dearest college friends – she and C., her boyfriend, are getting married in November! Last spring the four of us spent Easter weekend together. We did things like walk among all the new budding trees and flowers, lounge alongside a river draped over one another in the sun, laugh and drink margaritas and dye Easter eggs, cook big delicious breakfasts, and talk about how lucky we all felt. It was a very schmoopy weekend, but one that we all look back on fondly. My friend and I have had many long conversations about the institution of marriage, but it all felt very natural for her to call me on Sunday, the anniversary of our cupid-infused weekend, and announce that she and C., both Ph.D. students, have decided to take the plunge – to commit themselves to each other (in an official way) and to growing old together.

I speed dialed her number and shared my enthusiasm with her. Then I used lots of will power to refrain from calling my own boyfriend and screaming into his ear “WHEN ARE WE GOING TO DO THIS?”