twenty-one days post-wife

We got there, who would have thought.

I won’t preamble through the entire daze that was our engagement, nor will I push forth bursts of colour from the day itself.
All I want to say is this: We’re here now. And marriage feels like a set of soft, clean and very comfortable white sheets. I’m home. And so is he. We’re both so very comfortable, so very calm and so very quietly confident in our own affections.

It’s funny the buildup of marriage. I don’t quite know if I agree with it all. A wedding to me, is a large expense for a union between yourself, your closest friend, and your loved ones. I can’t count the amount of dinner parties, gatherings and lunches I’ve been to in the last few years, all with our loved family and friends. None of those events cost close to what our wedding did, so what is that all about?
It’s nice I suppose; the white dress, the bow ties, the way you can look out across the room and see every person you love bubbling over with affection. It’s lovely to see your partner so happy, to see your friends so supportive, to see your uncle demolish yet another glass of champagne before the entrée hits his table. It’s all wonderful and yet the introspective side of me kind of shrugs and says, ‘well what about it?’
Corey’s and my relationship was birthed in the pits of summer in an unairconditioned math classroom over the boredom of algebra. I remember once being so bored that I simply spent the entire lesson watching as sweat droplets trickled from Corey’s scalp down to his starch white collar before vanishing.
I didn’t like him then, nor he I. But we held that comradery that final-year students do. That certain bonding on the paranoia of what life outside of a schoolyard will be like. We were all uncertain and I suppose that brought us close.
Later, Corey and I found ourselves crying with laughter on a dirty beach while rain spit at our skin. We were both sandy, salty and close to drenched. I’m sure there was attraction and undoubtedly there was chemistry. But on that grey day, playing board games with his family, love set around us like cement. There was no room to move. We were here now. And this was it.

After that, our relationship was solidified the way I guess many are. We watched all of the important TV serials together. We argued over workload. Experienced the pure innocent joy of having puppies join our family. We went to breakfast with his parents, weekly. We were at the pub often with friends. We bought a house together and argued a lot because finances can be a headache. Early on, I decided that I did not care to wear makeup around Corey. He didn’t mind. He grew his beard out, and I stopped fake tanning, and we settled into a routine of carelessness. We loved each other so much (still do) and the physical appearance seemed so very trivial.

And then Corey proposed with a diamond so big, that suddenly I needed to stop chewing my nails.

The day was a somewhat stereotypical white wedding. I wore a dress, Corey wore a suit. My dearest four friends stood with me, and his with him. We cut a cake, danced badly and recited our vows in a white chapel all the while trying not to laugh. Because who are we to look so presentable, to be so solemn, to declare passionate love? Across from me stood the man who groans every morning while I frustrate myself trying to wake him. Across from him stood the control freak who can’t cook to save her life. Once Corey vomited out the window of my moving car. At his twenty-first, I slipped away before 9PM and had a nap for an hour. Both of us, largely imperfect facing each other saying ‘I Do’, as if we’re a fairytale couple who never gets it wrong.

The funny thing is; we do. We get it wrong all of the time. And that’s us. Corey doesn’t like to get up in the morning, and I hate cooking. Corey takes it very seriously when I don’t tell him the full truth, and I want to pull my hair out when doesn’t tell me plans until the last minute. We’re two people flailing about in this combusting life, and at the end of it all, we’re there sitting uneventfully on our grey couch, our two dogs curled up with us, me giggling at his bad jokes, and him watching yet another four-wheel-driving show.

Our wedding was perfect. Of course it was. That’s something to be said about my OCD organisation tactics. The day went wonderfully, everyone had an excellent time. I spent about three days after sleeping from the exhaustion of all that socialising and Corey spent that time sipping mojitos by the pool and texting me memes. Marriage people, it’s real.

And now we’re both here. Both home. Both showering our dogs in affection and stumbling around the kitchen trying not to let ourselves starve. I complained while I ironed his linen shirts from the honeymoon (side note: heavy linen shirts can go to hell) and Corey gave me a serious lecture because I buy too many dogs toys. Marriage, what a ride.

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