According to some article that pops up on my FB and distracts me at all the wrong times, I only display two signs out of twenty of being a stereotypical, basic white girl (I need songs like the Wobble and Cupid Shuffle to explicitly tell me how to dance because I CAN'T, and well who doesn't love brunch?). Normally, I would dismiss this list as another technique of our society to attach labels to people and categorize them in ways that could potentially damage their tender self-esteem; however, as a 25-year old woman who is married to a black man, I am always searching for areas to boost my street-cred and scoring such a low score on this quiz was a proud moment in my life. Contracting to that personal success, I did a major 180 when I proposed the idea of writing a blog (very basic) about, yes, weddings (100% basic). Nonetheless, I wish to share my wedding story with you.
The first step to getting married is having someone who wants to marry you and says, "yes" when you ask or who asks you. But lets back up a bit, I know there are ladies out there whose Pinterests pages are full of wedding dresses and rustic barns and mason jars aglow and that "perfect" ring designed, and these women are single or waiting for "Quincy from the football team" (shout out @kbnoswag!) to finally propose already. These women are winning. They are prepared. They will know what they are doing when the time comes. I, on the other hand, was 100% not ready.
The most I thought about getting engaged and planning my wedding was when I had a fantasy in high school about my fictional fiancé proposing to me in the middle of MetLife Stadium home of the New York Jets while the real life Ed McCain belted out "I'll Be" as beautiful doves were released into the sky, and the Jets took home a victory. This dream was quickly dashed as I grew older and ascertained that I really despise large groups of people staring at me, most birds and the noises they make creep me out, and the Jets rarely win when it actually matters. Although "I'll Be" will forever be the jam, thoughts about weddings and proposals were basically nonexistent up until the moment when I didn't get engaged, but for some reason my parents thought that I did.
Back in the summer of July of 2014, my family along with James took a trip to the Jersey shore. As the seagulls were crapping all over everyone's heads and hypodermic needles were being washed ashore, James approached me very nervously and whispered that he was going to ask my mom for my hand in marriage. He then proceeded to walk over to my mom and ask for my hand in marriage. From afar, I witnessed his asking my mom for my hand in marriage. A short while later, my mom drew near and muttered that James had asked for my hand in marriage. A few days later, before James had had the chance to corner my dad alone, which said boyfriend kept me updated on, my father got into the car with both of us in it. By both of us, I mean that I was in the car with James. Keep in mind, that I am present in the car! My dad then started asking James if the rumors of James' wanting my hand in marriage were true and then with a big grin congratulated the both of us and shook James' hand.
Now, I am no expert nor do I claim to be, but I am pretty sure that, none of that, was supposed to happen in that particular fashion. In fact, I am fairly certain that the person doing the proposing, the family, and all of those involved make their best effort to keep the engagement a secret until it actually happens. However, not my family and, thus, that is how the wedding planning started prior to my even being engaged.