My fiancee and I want the American Dream: to be married, have a family, and own a home. I’m still a student, and she has some debt, so the home-owning part of the dream is beyond us right now. My suggestion: Instead of registering for wedding presents, we could ask our guests to contribute to the down payment on a house. My fiancee thinks this is tacky and rude -- although she has no problem with signing up to get crystal and china. What do you think?
--Undercapitalized
I think it’s like going to a bar and informing the person next to you, “Hey, in case you want to buy me a drink, I should let you know up front, I’d really rather have the cash.”
Is this a celebration of love you’re planning, or Live Aid for the overspent middle class? If it’s the latter, don’t hold back. Make the receiving line double as a giving line by sticking an ATM at the beginning. Let no moment go unmerchandised: “For $80, you’ll get a DVD of our wedding night. For an extra $180, we’ll even throw in the bedroom scenes!” Don’t forget to offer your guests the option of a monthly direct-debit from their bank account, which may usher them up the tiers of giving; turning, say, gold-level friends into platinum ones.
You claim you’re after the American Dream -- the idea that, through hard work and determination, anybody can have a happy, prosperous life. Um, yes, but that’s supposed to be your own hard work and determination, not that of your friends. Some couples do ask their families to chip in for a down payment instead of a big wedding -- but, at what point do your parents get to be done feeding the upstretched palm? Then there’s the tacky new trend of setting up a Web site where wedding invitees can seamlessly pay for the couple’s home, honeymoon, and more. Suddenly, they’re not just your pals, they’re also your PayPals!
There are arguments for registering for gifts: it prevents a couple from ending up with 26 blenders, saves them when others’ bad taste is not exactly their bad taste, and it’s a relief for “friends” who’d scarcely recognize the bride but for the big white dress. But, maybe people who don't know you well enough to gift you without assistance have no business coming to your wedding. And frankly, if a wedding is about the love, not the loot, is it best celebrated with a flock of lead crystal butterflies, or the $14.95 John Gottman book, The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work? Of course, you two could also do with a few visits to a Certified Financial Planner so “’til death do us part” doesn’t become “’til debt do us part.”
This being America, not the Sudan, what do most of us reeeally need on top of what we already have? Will your love be meaningless if you express it in a rented one-bedroom apartment while eating on Target-ware instead of Wedgwood? Unless you’re dirt poor, why not tell your guests "love is all we need," and in lieu of gifts, suggest they donate to your favorite charity? Otherwise, maybe a truly meaningful wedding gift would be a letter from each guest, perhaps to bind into a book, with their hopes for your marriage; such as, that it will last longer than the payments they'd be making on that jewel-encrusted breadbox they would’ve ordered you from Tiffany’s.
April 14, 2006I’m 30 now, but I fell in love with a wonderful girl back when I was 23. After her boyfriend cheated on her, I held her while she cried. Soon afterward, she expressed interest in me, but I couldn’t muster the courage to ask her out due to an embarrassing situation at home (my father’s debt and his health problems). Seven years later, I still can’t let go of what might have been. I just heard she and that same boyfriend recently moved away together, and I'm crushed. Should I contact her just to see how she’s doing?
--Regrets Galore
It’s a good thing other species aren’t evolved enough to be as counterproductive as we are, or the food chain would empty out in about a decade. Come on, do you think a male deer on the make sniffs doe pee on a branch, and says to himself, “Naw, Ma’s been having a bit of the mange lately, I think I’ll take seven-year mating sabbatical”?
So, your family tree has a bit of bark rot. Join the club. The essence of being human is being something of a screwup. Everybody’s got problems. Smart people view them as opportunities for growth (see The Consolations of Philosophy by Alain de Botton). Others, such as yourself, prefer to repurpose them into excuses for acting like a wuss: “I can’t ask you out -- it’s too hot, it’s too cold, Daddy’s too poor, Daddy has a goiter named Fred.” Well, unless Fred’ll be joining you on your dates, and Daddy, too, in a wheelchair and leashed to his breathing machine…what’s it to you?
Then again, humiliation has excellent entertainment value. Nobody bonds with you over tales of your greatness. People want to hear about how human you are. They want to know about that time you were so poor you had to dress up as a chicken, clucking as you handed flyers to pedestrians; or rather, as you chased pedestrians, trying to hand them flyers so you could get paid before you died of heat exhaustion.
There is, however, a difference between serving up a splash of self-deprecation -- suggesting you have confidence to spare -- and inviting others to look on as you drown yourself in a bottomless vat of self-perceived loserhood. Extricating yourself from that vat could take years of therapy and a forest of motivational Post-it Notes -- reminding you not only to replace the refrigerator bulb, but to like yourself intensely while doing it. Or, you could just stuff a set of walnuts in your underwear (the faint clacking will remind you they’re there -- if the discomfort or a band of rabid squirrels doesn’t get you first)…and go out in the world and hit on girls.
But wait, what about your One True Love? Sure, you could call her -- now that there’s even less of a chance she’ll impede your slow, lonely march toward incontinence and death. Or, for a change of pace, start asking out other girls like, well, like they’re going out of town to live with their boyfriends. At some point, you’ll learn what players know -- that success in dating is largely a matter of mathematical odds. Ask three girls, you’re likely to get three rejections. Ask 300, and a few are bound to say yes (maybe even a few keepers). In time, you should come to understand that it’s self-worth, not Daddy’s net worth, that matters. Of course, sticking with imaginary relationships is a great way to preserve your own net worth -- considering the low cost of imaginary dates, wedding rings, private schools and college educations.
April 3, 2006I was planning a spa weekend with my girlfriends, and my boyfriend of four months wanted to come. I offered to plan a romantic spa getaway for just us, but he insisted I not go to the trouble; he’d simply join my girlfriends and me. I explained it was an all-girls weekend, and girls talk about different things when guys aren’t around. He just lost it. He said there shouldn't be anything I tell the girls that I couldn't tell him. He accused me of not trusting him, broke down sobbing, and stormed out. He hasn’t returned my calls since. I think he’s being ridiculous, but he’s been fantastic until now, and I don't want to lose him.
--Exfoliated
Wait, is he a man, or a 4-year-old who lost his mommy in the bread aisle? “MOMMEEEE! DONNN’T LEEEEAVE MEEEEE!"
The great thing about not having given birth to him is that you can leave him. And you probably would -- if he hadn’t been “fantastic until now.” Yes, until now, when he refused to accept that a fundamental element of the “girls’ weekend out” is the “girls.” In other words, if you have a penis, a prostate, and a five-o’clock shadow, don’t come.
If only he were just stupid. Stupid people can be taught. Just ask authors making a mint reaching out to them by name: Hey, Moron! Imbecile! Dummy! Want to lose your virginity before you’re too old to get an erection? Check out “Dating For Men With The Brains Of A Philodendron.” Your boyfriend, unfortunately, is purposely stupid -- and unpersuaded by your tutorial on what an all-girls weekend entails: in some small part, going away for a weekend to talk about him. This becomes awkward if he’s right there in a pink robe and a matching “I’m pretty!”-embroidered pink turban, sharing PMS horror stories while plucking your best friend’s eyebrows.
The guy’s at least smart enough to couch his stupidity in the language of love: “You can tell me anything!” -- as if love is cause for issuing somebody an all-access pass to your head. Yes, and “Whither thou goest, I will go!” Perhaps this sounds romantic, especially with all the whither and thithering. Basically, what it proposes is a relationship modeled on a persistent fungal infection: “Hey, baby, I’ll be all over you at all times like an itchy rash!” This isn’t a sign that two people love each other but that one is so much of a missing person that he can’t be left alone, not even for a weekend.
The last thing you need is a guy who can’t live without you. A better idea is one who can, but would rather not. You won’t find a guy like that gathering up his hoop skirts and storming out of the building, sobbing about being excluded from your bikini wax festival. No, he’ll be too busy thanking his lucky stars and planning his night out making man-grunts with the boys.
Ditch the “fantastic except…” logic that women so often use in hopes of hanging onto an ultimately unacceptable man: “He’s fantastic except…well, except for those bodies under the sun porch, and the way he stretches out my bras when he wears them under his business suits.” Or, in your case, he’s “fantastic except…” when you double date with your best girlfriend. You and she excuse yourselves to the ladies room, and he sheepishly pulls out a lipstick and says to the other guy as he’s running off to join you, “I just can’t get comfortable using the dinner table as a vanity.”