Monday, July 7

We’re on the cusp of wedding season. Not specifically wedding season 2008: no, no, it’s the wedding stage of our lives that’s about to begin. The albums on facebook, the tacky colour schemes, the invitations you never wanted to receive in the first place—it’s all pouring in en masse and it’s only going to multiply.

(My aesthetician, bearer of all truths, told me that she was invited to more than eighteen nuptials the summer she got married.)

While drinking on a patio last week with a childhood friend we started talking about our boyfriends and when we'd get married. This in itself is a big deal—there’s an unspoken rule in your early-early twenties: do not gush about all things 'death do we part' unless you want to alienate or bore your friends, especially those who are single and/or career-driven. We were raised on Sex and the City after all, a show which aimed to teach us that it’s cool to still be chasing Mr.Right throughout your mid-thirties.

Um, not so much. Maybe inspiring for the women who were actually thirty and single, but Sex and the City was more of a cautionary tale for viewers of a certain upwardly mobile age. And this weekend’s Sunday New York Times continued the narrative with its coverage of Nanny Diaries co-author Nicola Kraus’ wedding.

You see, it wasn’t just by chance she got married at thirty-three. The poor chick lit author was thirty-two and single, meaning it made perfect sense for her to dedicate her last novel to her future husband.

“I was creating a place holder,” Ms. Kraus said. “He was out there. I just hadn’t crossed paths with him yet.”

She began behaving as if she was already in love. “You carry yourself differently when you’re not alone,” she explained. “I would carry myself at a party or a supermarket or a gym as if I was loved.”


Seriously.

And then the article goes on to wax tragic about Kraus’ feelings of desperation during her frenzied search for a husband. (Including a four-month sabbatical involving Tibetan healers and the placement of affirmations around her apartment—obvious inspiration for her brother reading a verse from “Eat, Pray, Love “ at the eventual wedding.)

Eugh. I’m only a casual connoisseur of the Vows section, but last time I checked they’re meant for stories of love, romance and family money. Not depressing tales about crazy borderline-barren ladies who throw birthday parties for their dogs.

And while the Sex and the City movie taught me that men care very little about getting their weddings listed in newspapers, if I was Kraus’s groom I’d feel more than jilted. The article isn’t about him—it’s about the idea of finding a husband. He just happened to break up with his mentioned-much-too-frequently ex-girlfriend at the right time. And wouldn’t you just LOVE to overhear her gossip circle this morning?