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  my hypothetical future children say "screw you"

  “So when are you going to start having babies?”  It’s apparently shocking to the greater world at large that we haven’t come up with a month-by-month procreation plan, and just smiling and saying we want to have kids, but just not, you know, next week is apparently way too obviously dodging the question. However I feel completely justified when my own dear, beloved mother is constantly alternating between, “You know, it’s a lot easier to have kids when you’re young,” and, “Put off having kids for years, enjoy being young!” When I point this out to her she looks vaguely hurt that I would make up such blatant lies about my own flesh and blood.

• “You know the housing economy is perfect right now – hope you’re not going to wait too long to buy!”  This one annoys me more because I agree. Houses are as cheap as they’re likely to be getting in my world, and the prices are going back up. And all I dream about at night is a yard where I can grow stuff and have a dog and, I dunno, suddenly become some sort of super adult who wakes up at dawn to do sun salutations on her perfectly groomed lawn. However most of the people who are asking us this also know that between freelancing, moving across the fucking country, student debts, and bar tabs we’re not in the position to be making a down payment. So I can’t help but feel a little bit like a cancer patient whose friends are all asking why I don’t run marathons to keep in shape. BECAUSE I HAVE CANCER YOU INSENSITIVE ASSHOLE.*

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  I can't even come up with something snarky here. PUPPY!!

• “What kinds of flowers do you want in your bouquet?”  This is one that I was shockingly unprepared for. I walked in being all, “Hey, here are some pictures of flowers I like – make it happen!” and this tiny lady was all, “Okay, so which flowers do you want? How about some nameinlatin? Or a bit of nameIdon’trecognize? We can also include prettysureshemadethisoneup…” Which is when I found out that apparently florists won’t just, like, go to town for you. And also that the few flowers you can think of apparently have growing seasons. And apparently none of those seasons are June 2^nd. And I also needed to pee really badly because I had just drunk a huge soda. So I’m saying is that I have no idea what the hell is going to arrive from the florists. Hopefully nothing that will sting/poison/attack the guests.

 

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  HOW DO YOU PEOPLE USE THESE THINGS?!

   “Just give me a call.”  Okay, here’s the thing. I hate phones at the best of times. I have weird social anxiety about them, and I wind up wimpering in the corner, trying to hide from my cell phone every time it rings (shut up, it can too see me!), but now I’m supposed to be coordinating with a shit-ton of people all over the country, while also keeping down a full-time job from home (re: lots of phone calls). So if you can, just send me an email. Or a text message. Okay, really, I’d appreciate it if you just refrained from talking to me for a month. Interacting with people is starting to give me hives.

• “Really, [fill in the blank] isn’t coming?”  NO YOU INSENSITIVE BASTARD. *ahem* I mean, no, unfortunately their finances/schedule/life choices won’t allow them to be there. And while I’m sure there are weddings that are nothing but love-fests throughout the world, for someone like me who at the best of times doesn’t really deal well with people (see above) the whole issue of who to invite, then what it means if they can’t come, and oh god why doesn’t anybody love meeeeeeeeeee… it’s a thing, is my point here. But please, feel free to explore my personal life in the names of idle chit-chat about wedding lists. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from getting married, it’s that once you’re The Bride society owns you and is allowed to make whatever demands it wants, because in return it’s giving you the Happiest Day Of Your Life. Thanks, society.

 

*I do in fact realize that comparing relatively mild financial burdens to cancer makes me an insensitive asshole as well. But at least I’m not reminding you of your inability to have a back yard and/or struggle with the dark specter of death looming ever closer on the horizon. So I’m not quite as big of an asshole.