minalisms

As if Ben and I didn’t have enough to do 10 days before our wedding, we decided to add one more goal to the itinerary:

Yesterday, we put an offer on what is likely to be our first home. And the offer — which was a damn good one — was accepted. So if all goes well with inspection and such, we will be first-time homeowners on Nov. 25 — just a week or so into our arrival into Smug Marriedness.

First comes love, then comes marriage, then there goes all your savings on a cute, split-level ranch!

More to come…

At a young age, I remember telling my cousins that when I find someone stellar to marry I am going to tell the whole world. I was talking about megaphones, newspaper announcements and marching bands.

Decades later, I’m a bit more modest about my plan. I’ve skipped the excessiveness but kept the sentiment.

And thanks to my immeasurably talented, artistic and geeky fiancé, I can still announce it to the world.

Main Entry: flu·id
Pronunciation: flü-əd
Function: adjective
Definition: subject to change or movement

If there are any plans that shouldn’t be fluid, they are wedding plans.

Guests aside, I myself am having trouble nailing down the details of how I’ll marry. But I have no doubt about who I’ll marry — that’s the simplest, loveliest, most anticipated part.

The past week in California has been an absolute blur. The eight days that I thought would be beyond sufficient to relax, meet friends and see family members have been hijacked by dreaded wedding planning. 

This is why I enjoy living in the Midwest, far from the location of My Big Fat Indian Wedding, as my best friend has dubbed it. The distance allows me to go about my merry way ignorantly hoping that either:

1) My wedding plans will magically and seamlessly and effortlessly come together exactly how I desire; or,
2) My parents will crack under the pressures of too hefty expenses and frivolous familial requests and beg me to marry Ben in a civil court.

But neither will happen. These eight days have brought me to that tragic realization. 

I am an only child of Indian parents who have been anticipating a wedding since the day I turned 22. I’ve delayed their plans for seven years. So, yes, a Big Fat Indian Wedding it will be. 

I so badly want to own my own home.

For the past year and a half, I’ve trawled through hundreds of property listings on the Internet. I’ve personally visited close to 70 houses and/or condos during that time too, becoming well-versed in ZIP codes, school districts, crime stats and architectural flaws.

Despite developing expertise and building confidence, beneath the surface I’m still petrified by the responsibility of it all.

It’s the same type of hesitance one might feel when, after a lifetime of dating, he begins to consider marriage. The commitment of forever, the responsibility of another and the risk of disillusionment could weigh too heavily on his mind, turning his feet cold.

That’s what I’m experiencing: cold feet.

Can I make good on my promise to love, honor and pay dearly for a property? Do I want the high-maintenance mortgage when my monthly rental keeps things simple? And, really, why should I buy the cow, when I can get the milk for cheap? Way cheap.