Diary,
In life, sometimes it takes only one incident to bring out the true nature of a person. Like the way a man keeps bragging about how he’ll protect his woman no matter what, then the couple is accosted by real gun-toting thugs and the man runs for the hills, calling for his mother. It actually happens more than you might think.
My impending nuptials have certainly brought out the Judas out of my fiancée’s well-crafted Last Supper. At her core, Harper is truly a saint. The kind of person who’ll give you the shirt off her back. The bra too, if you’re the insatiable, overzealous kind. Like the Biblical Judas who was unwittingly destined to do the dirty work to fulfil a prophesy, Harper’s first mistake was to fall in love with the Perpetual Bachelor.
Sure, after I met her, I was willing to cast my aspersions for the “I do” philosophy and give “Happily ever after” an apt chance. But like an overgrown baby, it’ll take me a while to wean off decades-long convictions. Did I expect Ms Harper to be perfect and remain so? Of course not. I may come off as unreasonable but I’m not stupid. Should she be extraordinary? Maybe.
Before you judge me (You may not, but, boy do I get it handed to me), allow me a minute to explain. It would take someone way above par to tame the marriage-despising beast in me. I mean, I have several mental encyclopaedias on why wedding bells should forever be muted, and I was only just beginning to write the short essay titled “Why I was wrong about matrimony” when my co-author threw the proverbial spanner in the works.
Her second mistake is mule-style stubbornness when it comes to her perfect day at the altar. She has unreasonable demands that must be met to the letter, otherwise the ceremony is a no-go. Vows at a castle, a rare wedding gown from Italy, an uncompromising list of bridesmaids from her childhood (God knows what will happen should he happen to call one of the ladies to his land of milk and honey).
The best thing for both of us is to call it quits. She keeps enjoying the Last Supper with her fellow disciples without the worry of an impossible communion with the devil. But who should move the first pawn? Should I at the risk of hurting her forever, or should she call it quits and lose the only likelihood of her perfect day coming to fruition?
I keep hoping something will decide this doomed match for us and right now, I’d give anything for a biased referee paid to throw the results some predetermined way.