Why I don’t (and won’t) get married

Because I’m scared!
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I’m scared of ruining something so beautifully set for so many countless years.
I’m afraid of not feeling pretty anymore, as I read in all the psychology books, that when we are settling down, we are letting ourselves go.

I’m scared of becoming blasée (jaded) in the face of the continuous cat and mouse game, with the pet names and continuous conquest attempts and small and childish attentions.

I’m terrified of seeing the event itself get ruined by the unpredictable weather or seeing my beautiful white dress being covered in dirt and mud. Of all the people that would show up at my wedding because they feel they have to as a thank you to my or hid parents, not because they wanted to. I’m afraid of the stolen looks and tight-mouth disapproval.

I’m scared we’ll have to make babies that I will have to carry. And I’m still a woman-child myself. And I still need all the attention and I’m not bored of being spoiled yet.

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Before and after marriage

I’m scared of future him, seeing his beer-belly grow, seeing his unkempt face, seeing his new wrinkles on his oh-so-pretty face.

I’m afraid I won’t be able to run away to my mother and sit my head in her lap and tell her all about my troubles when I don’t like him any more.

I’m frightful of washing up, cooking and cleaning – just me, because he would grow special wings once I carry his name and fly away from his chores.

And since I mentioned names, I’m aghast of being named different, that after my 30 years since I have carried my father’s name, so beautiful and resonant, I will be another.

It seemed so much easier with Romeo and Juliet.

’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O! be some other name:
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

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