The Marathon festivities were winding down by around two and I walked home in a cold, sunny afternoon.  On Grand Ave. I met a little cat, taking a mid-afternoon nap.


Instead of running in the New York Marathon, I decided to take the alternative route and watch it while drinking mimosas and Irish coffee.  There’s nothing quite like standing at mile 8, cheering for people while indulging in a whisky/coffee mix the size of a Starbucks Venti covered in whipped cream.

“Sell me on the benefits of marriage,” a friend told me.  Always literal, I know he meant it.  If I could draft a list and talk him into any one of my reasons, he’d be likely to give thought to changing “sides,” and giving team marriage a shot.

As a girl, I began with the most obvious, and in my opinion,  important reason of all: “because you’re girlfriend wants to.”  He shurgged.  “Then she can ask me.”

“You know she won’t.”

“Then she can wait.”

There are, I’ve found, very few old-fashioned notions my friends hang on to.  Knowing only one married couple in my age group, I have to say a disbelief or fear (depending on who you ask) of marriage is a pretty popular thing to have.

However, several things hold true: for whatever reason, men fear marriage more frequently than women.  In turn, women seem to feel unsucessful until they’ve found it, and on top of everything, we all  play quite old-school on this one: the gentleman has to ask the lady.

That being said, it some how doesn’t matter if the life you lead is already alarmingly domestic.  Having lived with my boyfriend nearly six years, we share bills, bank accounts and even jeans but the minute you ask him why he doesn’t just “marry me already,” he becomes a sheepish, shrugging six year-old.

But that’s only when there’s someone else asking.  When I say something the tone is completely different.  Apparently bringing up marriage is a “thing” I do, like PMS, frequently having to pee on road trips or inadvertently putting his cycling jersey in the dryer.  It is an obnoxious nagging thing I bring up at least once a month and deserves no more of his time than is absolutely necessary.

I can tell you, there is nothing more fun than sharing a beer with your boyfriend, staring at the diry table top, not speaking because his life—the life you share—is “too crazy right now, to think of something so huge.”

Instantly you’re the seventh grader who gets called ugly by the cute (mean) eighth grade jock you have a crush on.  Only this time, it isn’t a stranger making you feel like dirt, it’s the preson who’s underware and dishes you washe every night.

Everytime we argue about it, I swear I’ll give it up.  I’ll become so good about ignoring it and not caring about it, that eventually he’ll worry I don’t want to marry HIM (this hasn’t ever happened).

And so we get nowhere.  I keep asking about it, he keeps ignoring me, but I think the one thing we can both agree on is, for very different reasons, marriage sure doesn’t seem to bring out the best in people.