You're Not the Boss of Me

So the other day I was taking some Facebook quizzes (I should live in Paris), and I came across one called "What Kind of Wife Are You?" Despite the fact that I am not a wife, I do think that I would be pretty kick-ass at it, and not in a scary desperate-to-get-married-and-make-babies kind of way, but in a stuck up, condescending, over-it-all kind of way. Like I could be a wife if I wanted to be, but I'm not, but I'm still good at it.

And of course, my suspicions were confirmed. According to some Facebook app, I'm totally a good wife.

But this isn't just another blog about how great I am. There are plenty of those already. This one is about my favorite favorite question on the quiz.

It said something like your husband comes home and tells you to quit your job. Your response is.

Now, before I tell you what I said, I have to qualify my response by saying that most of the answer choices were a little absurd and some kind of mean. One was that you'd tell your husband that there was no way you could afford to quit your job on his "puny" paycheck. But my response was "laugh in his face," mostly because the idea that Wes or anyone would say that to me is facially absurd. I'm not saying I'd never quit my job because my nonexistent husband asked me too for a really important reason. But if he told me to, well, either he'd be kidding, or we'd soon be going through a real divorce.

Valentine's Day Really Makes Me Barf

Apparently, only the third in a series of things that make me throw up in my mouth a little bit (I swear there are more than three, I'll get on it)--the mother of them all, Valentine's Day.

Now, believe it or not, my intense dislike of Valentine's Day has nothing to do with weddings--I hated Valentine's Day even back when I used to admire wedding magazines at the checkout. But I guess my dislike stems from similar factors, like consumerism and fakey-fakeness.

Here are just some of the reasons I actually puke on Feb. 14. Actually, no lie, once I fainted on Valentine's Day. That one wasn't so bad.

First, it's a totally made up holiday. From what I understand as a good Catholic girl (meaning I do believe most of the stories of the saints), no one's really sure that St. Valentine even existed.

Second, roses shouldn't cost $80 a dozen. I don't even really like red roses. When I tried to break up with my high school boyfriend he sent me a dozen red roses (which only cost like $30, fyi) so now they just strike me as kind of desperate and clingy and sore-losery.

Third, I hate contests that are set up so that you can't win, and I feel like Valentine's Day is really one of them. You love me? Prove it. No, really, prove it. I need $80 roses and an overpriced dinner and probably a gift and if you forget to do either then that means that you don't love me.

Fourth, that reminds me. My high school boyfriend used to make me exchange real gifts at Valentine's day. Like one year he bought me a phone and I bought him a razor. But one year he gave me a gold-dipped rose. I'm not kidding.

Fifth, you should show your love for your partner everyday, or at least on Fridays, not just one day a year.

Sixth, my very first boyfriend dumped me three days before Valentine's Day so that he could give a rose to my friend. Ouch. Actually, that turned out to be an ok Valentine's Day, but it's the principle.

Seventh, last year, Wes, Katie and I tried to get some Indian food in France, but they were only serving a prix-fixe menu for like 45 euros or something and there was no vegetarian option, but we didn't know that until we'd already sat down and got an aperitif, so we felt like we couldn't leave. And all the couples got a rose, but I didn't. And I suspect that someone else got my engagement ring in their shrimp masala. What other explanation could there be?

Eighth, when Wes buys me Godiva chocolates for Valentine's Day, he expects me to share them with him! But he waits until I've already eaten the merely delicious ones and asks for the super delicious ones and then makes fun of me when I don't want to give them to him.

But there are some good things about Valentine's Day. One, it's really close to Wes's birthday, so we get to celebrate that. Two, my dad always sends me candy. This year it's a box of Mrs. Fields chocolates, and that will get its own blog post. And three, Wes gives me Spanish cards that he has translated hilariously and he doesn't peer pressure me into giving him grooming tools or accepting ugly tchotchkes.

Weddings Kinda Make Me Barf

The first in a series of things that make me throw up in my mouth a little: weddings!

Not your wedding, of course, but weddings in general. (I don't think I hate marriage either, but I do hate the social fixation on partnering. Single people are people too, people!)

I blogged about the implicit cost of weddings on my other blog, but there are actually quite a few reasons I don't have much interest in getting married myself. I'll make a long story short: most of my reasons boil down to the fact that everything about weddings has become so hokey and un-unique in their quest for uniqueness that I can't stand it.

For example, yesterday SP got a save-the-date magnet from a friend. There are not one, not two, not three, but FOUR pictures of the happy couple smooching and/or embracing on the magnet. Gross. I don't know these two people, but even if I did, I wouldn't want a picture of them kissing, let alone FOUR pictures of them kissing, on my refrigerator. But guess what I have now. ("How else will we know they're in love?" SP asked in response to my questioning the poses.)

And their website, prominently displayed on the save the date (bad design), is even better. Actually, it's amazing.

There you can see all the "couples" pictures (her quotes, not mine) that they took two weeks before (????) they got engaged. That's another thing about weddings I don't understand: weird, soft-focus pictures. And I certainly don't understand getting them taken just for the hell of it. Under each picture in the slide show are some of the lyrics to the song Forever. It took me a while to place it, but I finally did.

Then there's the story of how they met and got engaged. Despite the fact that I've never met either member of the happy couple, I'm pretty sure that both of these stories have been whitewashed to some extent. (Though she did say her favorite casual-dining restaurant is Olive Garden, so maybe not.)

This website is inspiring. It almost makes me want to get married, just so I can post my version of how we met. It'll go something like this:

SP got wasted and told my roommate that I was cute. Once I remembered exactly who SP was, I was flattered. After a few weeks of hanging out, I dressed up like a hooker and he put on a fat suit, and we both got wasted, and I told him that no one needs a hooker like a fat guy, and then we made out in his living room in front of everyone I know, including my younger sister. The next day, in the harsh light of morning, we went to Lost Dog Cafe, one of our favorite casual-dining restaurants.

My parents are so proud. And yes, I did whitewash that. It was a Halloween party, and some dude tried to pick me up in my Capitol Hill neighborhood as I walked to my car in my hooker garb. And SP and I danced to Rock Your Body a few times before I finally made my move. And I made cupcakes. Fat guys love cupcakes.

So, as you can see, I really have no need to get married. I'm enough of an asshole already.

(And seriously, none of this is personal. All my married friends are absolutely lovely. It's the wedding-industrial complex I hate.)