Marriage

Marriage changes everything. Or, it changes nothing- It depends on who you ask. So much goes into a wedding, from the time and logistics to the pure emotional energy, it’s easy to understand how much pressure the average bride and groom must feel. Surely, after all the hard work, legally binding documents, merriment and revelry, everything must seem different from this point forward. The truth of the matter is, I think that the shift has already happened, quietly and without fanfare, before you ever discussed floral arrangements or said, “I do.” For all intents and purposes, you’ve been married since the moment you met.

Brian, I’ve never seen my sister happier than when she’s with you. Rachel, I haven’t remotely liked a single one of your suitors before this, and in case you’re still wondering, I’m officially giving this one my seal of approval. You two are so good for each other; encouraging one another through challenges big and small, laughing off the little things that don’t really matter and tackling important issues that do head-on.

The world needs more complimentary pairings like you two, because that’s what marriage really is. It’s the love you two share, nothing more and nothing less. A piece of paper won’t change that. This momentous event, joyous as it is, won’t change that. We’ll have a clearly defined date to celebrate now, happily marking the years as you grow old together, but you’ll go home tonight and realize that everything feels the same. If you ask me, that’s the truest indication of your love, because it doesn’t depend on any external validation. Your love is enough- more than enough.

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Weaponized Watermelon

I hit a man with a watermelon today.

Swinging like a pendulum from the shopping bag slung low on my shoulder, it connected solidly with his knee, startling a low grunt of discomfort from deep within his subconscious. Too embarrassed to make proper eye contact, I can’t say for certain whether he was in genuine pain or just surprised by the melon’s breach of personal space, but I felt the acute pain of social misconduct.

“So-orry!” The words tumbled out as awkwardly as my unstable footing, lurching forward unsteadily as the bus accelerated at random, up and down the precipitous hills of San Francisco. Still wrestling to gain full control of the wayward watermelon, the weight of it grew more burdensome with every passing city block, threatening to rip lose from the threadbare gussets already straining to contain its girth. Soon it began lashing out at other innocent bystanders, swinging wildly like a mace, threatening to enter full wrecking ball mode if only it could work up the momentum.

Even after muscling into a vacant seat, wedging the bag firmly between my feet, the little round demon still rolled about with abandon, seeking a quick getaway. Clearly, it had dreams of flying freely across the floor, bowling down anything in its path. Fighting for its life as though it understood the fate that lay ahead, it was as inconsolable as it was uncontrollable.

Mercifully, before the melon could detonate in an explosive, sticky blowout or cause further bodily harm, the doors swung open to the sweltering street, dumping us unceremoniously at our destination. Though the encounter may not have ended well for that innocent man on the receiving end of my watermelon’s wrath, his pain was not in vain; successfully taming the beast was a sweet relief, indeed.