Dating a Shorter Man: Fiancé Edition

If you read my previous article about dating a shorter man, you know that it has a happy ending. Or rather a happy beginning. Kyle proposed to me after our The Tall Society photoshoot, at a place we reserve for celebrating beginnings and endings of chapters in our New York lives: The Plaza Hotel.

Most of the engaged I meet aren’t actually surprised about the proposal. They’ve discussed the future in serious tones and decided marriage is an inevitability of their deepening relationship. They’ve even picked out the ring. I, however, was genuinely surprised. Why? Two reasons: (1) We were singularly focused on planning a cross-country move in the fall; (2) Am I old enough to get married?

Yes, legally, duh. But this is a common question for us city dwellers with chronic Peter Pan syndrome. I suspect I’m not really asking if I’m old enough; I’m asking if I have my life together enough to take on the wellbeing of another person–who, mind you, is an adult and can already take care of himself. Do we ever feel ready to pursue a new opportunity? There’s always the risk, the unknown, the lack of conclusive direction. Every marriage I observe seems to move along different paths, at different speeds, and sometimes it just—poof—runs off a cliff.

I don’t want to run off a cliff! Kyle surely doesn’t want to either. After four years, we’ve learned to take better care of each other, to try to help each other become the best humans we can be. We still argue, but there is more effort put into our resolutions. During a disagreement, old me would have stormed out the door, stomped 1.5 miles to the Nassau G-train, transferred to the 7-train, rode to the last stop in Flushing, and marched to the spot where the painted van picks you up and drops you off at Spa Castle. There, I would use my $20 Groupon to hang out in a hot pool all night, sweating out my own anger, until they kicked me out. (I did this, like, once.)

Today I’m still full of these bubbling emotions that can only be released by expressing them aloud, but now I try to breathe and take a moment before compulsively responding to Kyle like a frustrated child. I think it’s working.

So..we’ve picked a year: 2018. We’ve picked a state: Colorado. We’ve written a first draft of a guest list, ideas for potential venues, and our wish list for the big day. I even have a secret Pinterest board for DIY decorations that I will never make. I wonder why people freak out so much about weddings. Who are these people? Have they planned an event before? Do they obsess over small details in daily life? If, for example, the florist brings the wrong flowers or no flowers at all, will the day be ruined for them? Is “Bridezilla” an inescapable fate for all of us engageds?

To me, it seems more stressful to renovate a house (I don’t know how to build things) than it is to plan a wedding (I know how to organize events). We’re only in the early stages of planning, so maybe my views will change. Presently the only thing that gives me cause for rapid heartbeat and an inordinate amount of anxiety is finding a cool wedding dress that is long enough for 6-foot-tall me. I sincerely hope she’s out there.

Until the next installment,


Have you planned a wedding before? We’d love to hear your advice!

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