It is all beginning to make sense now. This couple has spent two years planning the wedding and about 45 seconds thinking about the marriage.
There has been so much talk about the trappings and the veneer and the superfluities --and how of course they compare to Em's friends' plans for jumping the broom this year. It is not about substance. It is about facade. It is about intemperence. It is about the moment. It is an illusion much like the one created by Disney.
I am not an authority on the subject of Disney. I have never been there. I have never wanted to go there. I know it has a reputation for excellence. It just holds no appeal to me.
Magic Kingdom? Exactly. It is sleight of hand and smoke and mirrors. How else can they get millions of people each year to board planes with toddlers, travel to a climate on par with Hell, and to spend what equates to the GNP of Guam to ride amusement rides in the company of people dressed up as cartoon characters? Fully grown adults, speechless over a greeting from Pluto and stammering because Cinderella winked and smiled.
Caught up in the magic. Believing the illusion. Suspended disbelief. It is genius.
And then it's over. The flight home is maudlin. Back to a reality weighted with responsibility, commitments, obligations, and decisions. Hardly a magic carpet ride.
Not so for Em and Chuck! No, they had gotten on the Arrested Development shuttle and were not about to give up their seats.
J., who was spending far too much time at the dress shop these days, was present for one more gathering-cinching-pinking-hiking-pinning-hemming session for the raspberry sherbet ensemble when he overheard the latest juicy morsel of intel. He could hardly wait to have a chinwag on the topic.
"Guess where Em and Chuck will be living when they get back from Disney?" he asked in a snarky tenor.
My mind raced. I couldn't begin to imagine. It was hard to predict where the insanity would stall and go sputtering to a halt.
"They are moving in with Mommom."
Surely the pixie dust was making my head swim.
"Mommom's???? Haven't they had enough celibacy?"
"Yes indeed, Mousketeers. They are both moving from their parents homes right into Mommoms," J. observed. It was for sure that Chuck would not be chasing Em around the dining room table in her panties any time soon.
"Do you think they are afraid of intimacy, J.? Do you think this is a convenient excuse not to get close? When I've seen them together, they don't even act like a couple, much less one who is looking forward to finally getting their hands on eachother. It can't be financial. They've been engaged for two years. They must have saved at least first and last month's rent for something!"
I thought about it a second longer and it dawned on me. It was much simpler than that. Oh, it might be those things, too, but the primary reason was not so complicated and Freudian. It was a much more basic, self serving, Maslow's hierarchy of idiotic needs thing.
Em and Chuck simply wanted to be able to say that they were living in a 3 bedroom center hall colonial with a pool and a prestigious address. Simple. Pathetic and shortsighted, but simple.
Watch the tram car, ladies and gentlemen. This is an express to Hellacious Acres.
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