2011.
That was the last year I attended the wedding of someone older than me, and I go to tons of weddings. I’m drowning in an ocean of weddings, actually. I photograph them and am invited to them and have been in multiple bridal parties.
But they’re all for people younger than me.
I watch these young punks exchange vows and kiss and have the most romantic pictures taken of them (sometimes by me) and then we dance and I’m legitimately happy for them and I’m not jealous, not at all.
I’ve reached the age where my seating placement is relegated to the table of the misfits and outcasts (read: other old single people), and I was invited to the wedding “because I was his youth pastor,” or “I mentored her through a tough time.”
Then I get into one of my two cars (because I’m rich and single, ladies) and drive home alone and eat ice cream and definitely don’t cry.
Being single at 29-and-a-half would be all fine and dandy if tonight, when I came home, I hadn’t stubbed my toe and nearly punched a hole through my roommate who left candy wrappers all over the house. A puncturable offense? Not really. But my romantic desperation often transmogrifies into rage these days.
I was coming home late from the gym. I was actually there when they closed at midnight and we got booted.
And when I say ‘the gym,’ I really mean a stretched-tight sea of yoga pants, both on the TV screens and in person, wrapped around calves, thighs and butts which Every Man’s Battle told me to just ‘bounce my eyes away from,’ as if it were as easy as shooing away a fly. Throw in a fair amount of sports bras and sumo squats and you have my night at the gym.
Or every night at the gym.
Ever.
For the average married person, these tempting delights may be more easily swallowed knowing you have a warm bed and a partner to share it with waiting at home.
One married friend once told me, “Let’s be real, Ethan. Everyone probably tells you that marriage won’t cure all your problems and desires, but the reality is, you go home to a cold twin-size mattress and a dog, while I go home to a loving wife who shares my bed. It doesn’t mean my life, or our marriage is perfect, but I acknowledge that there is a substantial difference there.”
So yah.