"Awwwwww..."

Monday I purchased the tie that I will be married in.

Lesser men would make a noose metaphor right here, but I happen to love ties. And this is perhaps the most spectacular tie I have ever purchased. It is all silk, and it is lined with it's outer fabric, so it has some nice body to it, and it will no doubt produce a very bold Double Windsor come wedding day.

But I'm not here to talk about clothing. I'll save that for a later posting. I found this tie store after having given up for the day on finding the wedding tie. I was walking to spend my unspent tie budget on some comics, when I came upon this retail oasis. A store that sold exclusively hand made silk ties, and nothing else. I find such singularity of purpose admirable, so I went in.
Within minutes I had the tie. One of the clerks asked me if the tie was for St. Patrick's Day. As the holiday was days away, and the tie was green, that wasn't an unreasonable question, but why anyone would spend this much money on something that will have corned beef and cabbage thrown up on it is beyond me.

"No, " I replied. "It's for my wedding."

I was cascaded with "Awwwww..." and "Ohhhhh...", as though I had presented them with an infant covered in kittens. Then their heads tilted and their eyes twinkled, and they did that little frown-smile that people do when they are about to Happy Cry. I was drilled on the particulars: When is it? What are the colors? What are you wearing? Where is it? Isn't that expensive? What are the groomsmen wearing? Is it a big wedding? Flowers? Food? CAKE?!

So far, since I've been engaged I would say that this about the average feminine response. Their is something about weddings that seems to touch women in an instinctual way. I've had friends who always swore they would never be "that way", but no matter the size or scale of the affair, at some point the archetypal Ur-Bride will emerge. And this extends to weddings that are not even one's own. As demonstrated at the tie store, sometimes even brushing across a wedding is enough to manifest the Wedding Instinct.

What this adds up to for the groom, is an inordinate amount of female attention. It can be a deluge, at times. Like, to a degree I never had while not considering marriage at all. Well, once, on St. Catherine St. in Montreal, but that was something else entirely. Perhaps it sends a signal that I have the approval of someone in the sisterhood, and so I can be treated differently. I have expressed my willingness to commit, and so therefore I am a prized commodity. Getting engaged seems to be the sexiest thing I have ever done.

Just ask Angela.

Why "Panini Love Overdrive"?

Indeed, why?
It all started with an argument. My betrothed and I were perusing our wedding registry, as I'm sure most enfianceed couples do, dreaming of all the magnificent booty we would be awarded for loving each other. Out of nowhere she asks me to decide which of two panini presses I prefer. Previous to this, I had not even known that we were considering panini presses. I began to panic. I never really thought about panini presses, and it seemed to me that we were registered for so much stuff already (an immersion blender, a crock pot, kitchen knives, china, champagne flutes... You get the idea.), that maybe we should take it easy, and hold out for cash.
We both dug in our heels, and proceeded to have at it. I am stubborn and still cling to a perhaps immature sense of anti-materialism. Somehow, this kitchen gadget could only be used to press the corpse of my youthful idealsim into a hot, melty sandwich, and I wasn't having it. From her point of view, we were planning for a time in the future, when we would be settled and have children, and do things like cook for them. To her, it was a talisman, representing an anticipated familial bliss. If I didn't want that panini press, then I didn't want children, either.
It was unpleasent. The wedding was off, or at least we wouldn't be talking until some time after it.
Then I started to laugh. A little at first, then to the point of tears. I was engaged in the stupidest argument ever. Much more than not wanting to be the kind of person with a panini press, I never want to be the kind of person who would argue about one. If she wants it, then dammit, I want it to. We are a team. I'm not in it for the kitchen furnishings, I'm in it for her. I want this device in my house cranking out simple Italian sandwiches for my complex Italian bride.
It was decided that night that whenever wedding discussions get tense, our safe word would be "panini press". We have not had occasion to use it since then.