When we got home, we stayed up way too late watching TV and talking excitedly about different things the way people do when they're getting to know each other. And when we finally went to bed, we said "I love you" with shit-eating grins on our faces and after the lights were turned off I asked him, "Are you still smiling?"
"Yes." He responded.
"Me too." I said and then drifted off to dreamland expecting to wake up the next morning in an episode of Leave it to Beaver.
However, when we did wake up this morning, T and UnPlain had replaced The Cleavers and Mr. Cleaver was cranky from staying up so late. Trying to be understanding given the fact that I'd be pissed off too if I had to get up and go to work while T got to sleep in after a late night, I rolled my sore-ffrom-dancing-ass out of bed and described in detail all of the things I was going to do around the house today, in an effort to let T know that I too was "working." Eventually he headed off to work and I started to get a move on my day. Things were fine until a few hours later when we spoke on the phone.
BAM. Our first married fight. Well, our first REAL married fight. I don't really count every time he gets pissed off and starts an argument after I start eating his food because I've finished my own. No, this was a real fight and it was over what most couples find themselves arguing about often, money. Not real money mind you, it was over a minor expense which one of us considers a necessity and the other considers a luxury (I'll let you figure out who's who).
But of course it spiraled into a bigger argument on our disparate views and the next thing I knew I was lying in bed crying while spewing out emails with lines like, "What's it like to know that your wife is crying because of you? I hope it was worth the X dollars," as fast as the predictive text on my blackberry would let me. Then shortly after I updated my Facebook to reflect that my morning was "ruined" driving the guilt stake just a little further in, I realized it was now 11:30am and I hadn't done a single thing on my to-do list (even though one of those items is now off my to do list thanks to the fight). So, I got up, got dressed and went to the gym.
Now normally, I would've stayed in bed escalating the argument to the point where T would consider leaving work to come home, take me out and save the relationship. In the process I would've gotten in some over-top and deep-cutting one liners that would further prove my sainthood. But instead, I went on with my day.
Maybe it's because I was three quarters in the right during this argument or maybe because just as I was typing the best low-blow I could come up with and BBM it to my husband I realized that, shit, he's just that. My husband.
He's not the jerk who hasnt' proposed yet. He's not the jerk who doesn't understand why the wedding is stressing me out so much. He's not the jerk that got mad at me for staying out until 5am with my girlfriends letting dudes buy me drinks (ok, he gets that one). He's not any of these jerks. He's the jerk I married. He's the jerk I will buy a home with one day. He's the jerk I will raise my jerk children with some day. And he's the jerk I will retire to Boca Raton, take up Mah Jong and drive a massive Cadillac that we "bump into things" with.
Feeling good about revelation, half way through my workout, I decided it was time to email T and clue him in that I'd decided the argument was over. As we apologized and "talked it out" over instant messenger, developing a plan of action to reconcile our disagreement, I thwarted off the anxiety attack that usually comes with anytime I realized I've matured even the slightest little bit. Then I stretched, cleaned myself up and headed over to Sephora to buy some outrageously over priced beauty product, spending more than I would've in the first place. Sucka.
The best part of all of this is I realized that, wait, I'm sane. I'm sorta mature. I'm acting like an adult and not the bat-shit, this-relationship-will-never-work/why-don't-you-plan-the-damn-wedding-yourself/don't-even-think-about-having-more-fun-than-me bride I was for the past year and a half. Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with the fact that I have issues, that I take arguing to a whole new level and that I have more than once ripped off my engagement ring and slammed it on the coffee table for poignancy. This is part of my charm. It keeps things interesting and gives me something to crack up about with my equally-issuefied friends over brunch while T roles his eyes. But I do realize that it wasn't entirely me. It was the beast known as a wedding.
Now, there's nobody asking, "when are you getting engaged?" There's nobody saying, "You know, you guys should really be doing
All that's left is me, my husband and two rings on my left ring finger that I didn't feel like ripping off for effect this time.