“What are you buying me for a wedding present?”
Moments ago, I was awaken from my mindless TV watching as Meg pounced onto the couch next to me. A big, ass kissing smile on her face told me she wanted something. She dropped this question on me after positioning her head a solid 3 inches from my face.
Still stunned, I found myself shocked not only at the seemingly random nature of the question… not only at the bold, upfront, and downright Villanova-esque interrogation… but mostly taken aback at the idea that I have to buy her a wedding present. On a day to celebrate us as a couple (or so I’m reminded every time I express disinterest in this sacred day), I had not given much thought to the fact that I would have to get Meg a present. I could argue that being married should be present enough for her, but I know the sarcastic asses I have reading this site would be stumbling over themselves on the way to the comment entry form. I could argue that just putting up with her over the course of the last 16 months and preparing for the three day marathon that is our wedding is further present enough for her, but that would still send everyone (still sarcastic asses, mind you) racing to the comment entry form.
I regained my composure and rejoined the conversation. I say rejoined because I’ve tried the zoned out routine before. Unfortunately for me, Meg will continue the conversation despite my vegetative state, filling in what she wants to hear as answers to questions posed to me. If you don’t believe me, realize that had I been paying attention, you people wouldn’t have STDs stuck on your fridge (yes, I still maintain that they better be there, damnit).
“I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it yet.”
[whispers] “Diamond tennis bracelet.”
And so, a blog entry is born. I’m almost disappointed in myself for having thought Meg was done with her wonderful nuggets of wedding wisdom. A small part of me thought that in the remaining 58 days, I would be able to coast by without being blindsided by another wedding “tradition” of which I was unaware.
A small part of me died tonight.
As it had been a while since I partook in one of these lose-lose conversations, I was hit with a bit of nostalgia and decided to subject myself to the pain.
“By the way, what the hell is a tennis bracelet?”
“I don’t know.”
That was all she said out loud, but the implied ending to that response is “… but I know I want one.”
Which brings me back, once again, to our friends at Helzberg. Through their mystical mind control advertising campaigns, they have managed to instill the term “diamond tennis bracelet” into both the minds of the sane (me) and the easily swayed minds of those hypnotized by all things sparkly (Meg). Furthermore, Helzberg has managed to convey that this is something of much desire and symbolic of a big occasion. These bracelets are to be used to wow or to apologize. To “take her breath away” as Helzeberg would put it (or, as Ron White would put it, “that’ll shut her up”). Again, all of this is communicated without a proper understanding of just what the hell constitutes a tennis bracelet.
My breathing became more rapid. I daresay I began to sweat a bit. I looked up at Meg emphatically, almost begging her to keep talking. Could this finally be material for a new blog entry?
“Just think, if you got me that then I could take up tennis.”
Well, guess she answered that question for me.
One of the things I love about Meg is that she can be really fun to hang out with. She can be one of the guys. But she can still be sweet. She can get all dressed up to go to a bar only to later that night inhale a cheesesteak from Genos. She’ll read a wedding magazine while on a treadmill.
And at comments like that, I am reminded that she is still, at heart, a Villanova business major.