I’m not the girl you date when you’re young. I’m the woman you’ll marry when you’re ready. You know why that fucking sucks? Because I’m the one that’s already there. There have been three separate men in my life who have claimed they will marry me, and I’m sure at the time they truly believed it, but that doesn’t make me any less angry about it.
See here’s the thing: I’m too much. I’ve established myself as a whole person without the help of anyone else. I need a partner, not a toy. I need a man, not a boy. The simple truth is that I haven’t met anyone who’s ready. So while it’s all fine and dandy that you think you’re going to marry me, I’d like to tell you you’re wrong. You won’t marry me, because the mentality of that statement is that of a child, an immature boy who wants an excuse to skirt commitment, play the field, and stick his d*ck in every pretty girl that walks by without repercussions. If that is the lifestyle you want, than by all means please, go ahead and live your life. But stop saying you’ll marry me.
I’m pretty (most days). I have a well-paying, full-time job. I’m pursuing a graduate degree. I’m beginning to look for houses in the state within which I want to settle. I have opinions, a mouth on me, and one hell of an attitude. I know what I want and what I like, and I do not settle for less. I have tossed decent guy after decent guy aside, to the dismay of my friends, because I know something they don’t. These are not the guys for me. If they were, I wouldn’t have tossed them.
The problem is, these boys don’t realize that before they can marry me, they actually do have to date me. And they don’t know how. They don’t have the slightest clue how to approach “marrying” a girl like me. They think it will all magically fall into place; as if I will stand still, frozen in time, while I wait for them to be “ready.” But that’s not how life works.
I will get my degree and I will buy my own house. Eventually I will buy a new car. I will get a dog, and make a life for myself without help from any man. So don’t you dare for one second thing you’ll be able to waltz into some cardboard cutout I’ll leave for you in my brand new, shiny life. There are no holes to fill. To “marry” me, you have to build with me. You have to be an equal, a partner, a best friend. You can’t be some f*ck boy I loved when I was fifteen or twenty because I didn’t know any better.
And yet the problem remains. I am the girl you marry. I’m “wifey” material. And none of you children are ready. You know what’s the big, glowing, neon sign? Anyone who says, “I’ll probably end up marrying you.” Anyone who says, “You’re wifey material.” Anyone who says, “I’m going to marry you one day.” That’s how I know you’re not ready. Because you’re making plans for a future you don’t actually want yet. And if you don’t want it now, you’re not going to want it later.
You are who you are, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I am who I am, and there’s nothing wrong with that either. I am marriage material, and not because I’ll cook for you and clean for you and bring you a beer while you watch the game and fold your laundry. I’m marriage material because I will challenge you to be the best version of yourself. Because I won’t fill a hole inside of you; we will carve something new together and create a path, a life in which we compliment one another. I am complete. And only the man who is truly complete will ever have the privilege of marrying me. The rest of you will look back with faint regrets on a life you never really wanted.
That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
