• Ignorance is bliss as long as it doesn't come with an ulimatum
Image: PIXABAY
Diary,
Even I can’t believe that The Perpetual Bachelor is about to take the plunge. For the best part of this year, I’ve been cohabiting with Harper, the most beautiful soul from the land of NASA, and she has finally tamed the single beast in me.
Since I went down on one knee and proposed to her, she’s been consumed in wedding preparations, to which I have very little input. It’s “her” wedding, after all, and as the dutiful groom, my only part is to support her choices. She’s already threatened to kill me if I ruin her day in any way. Of course, we all know she was only kidding, right?
Last night, I came home from work to find Harper crying.
“What’s the matter, dear?” I said, taking her into my arms.
“Nothing is going right,” she cries.
“Anything I can do?”
She looks into my eyes somewhat seriously. “Can you free the Kensington Palace calendar for July seventh?”
“Can I what now?”
“Didn’t I tell you? Our wedding is gonna be at Kensington Palace.”
“Kensington Palace?” Like a fool, I add: “Is that a hotel? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s in the UK, dear,” she says as if addressing a simpleton. “It’s where Prince Harry and Meghan posed for photos after announcing their engagement in 2017.”
“Did you just say ‘UK’? As in a royal palace in the United Kingdom?”
“Not the entire palace. Civil weddings can only take place at The Orangery, located in the grounds of the palace. It’s perfect for my 150 guests for the ceremony, and up to 300 for the reception.”
I smile down at her. “You’re kidding, right?”
She pulls away and stands up. “Do I look like I’m kidding, Tom? I was on the phone with them this afternoon. Apparently, some hotshot celebrity dating a hoity-toity influencer has booked the place for July seventh for their engagement. An engagement party, for freak’s sake!” (She didn’t say “freak’s”).
“How can we afford a wedding in a palace?” I wonder aloud, triggering Harper’s wrath.
“Are you even listening to me? I’m going through a life-altering crisis and all you can think of is money! I haven’t asked you to pay for anything, have I?”
“No, dear.” Remembering my supportive spouse role, I say, “Does it have to be on July seventh? Maybe we could—”
She grabs me by the collar and shoves her face into mine. “We can’t, Tom, okay? My wedding must be on July seventh at Kensington Palace. All I ask of you is to make it happen.”
As she storms towards the bedroom, I ask, “How am I supposed to do that, dear?”
“I don’t know, Tom. You’re the man in this relationship. Figure it out.”