When we were kids, my sister used to tease: "No one would ever marry you." I am sure she meant that as an insult, but over the years I have come to think of not being marriage material as a relief, and to rely on this as a sturdy backup plan should I ever—in a moment of sentiment—feel vulnerable to the charms of a union that lasts until death do us part. Now I can add to my safeguards the scared-straight experience of attending the Bridal Spectacular showcase.
Yes, I admit, I have spent my adult life dedicated to avoiding what I call the three C's (cancer, commitment, children). And so I have faced marriage like an ostrich trying hard to keep my head buried and know as little about the thing as possible. It turns out that I am not just good at this from of denial; I am great, truly gifted. I am so very proud to say I have succeeded in not knowing what finger a wedding ring goes on and, not only that, I have even sidestepped the merest clue about what the correct hand, left or right, is for said wedding ring! Of marriage, I am a total ignoramus.
Deborah Hansen, who has organized 27 of these Bridal Spectaculars, fathoms my total ignorance from the first question: "Do you expect a lot of people?" I ask. "Isn't it out of season or something? I thought weddings were in June. Why are you doing this in July?"
"We usually get about 2,500 people: About 1,000 of them will be brides. They are planning now for next year's wedding. These brides are planning weddings anywhere from six months to two years away."
"Oh my God!" I had no idea that weddings required such a running start.
I am suddenly nervous. But I don't know why. I mechanically ask questions and while Deborah answers them it suddenly comes to me: A woman has recently started keeping a toothbrush at my apartment.
"An average figure now for a wedding is $23,000."
She didn't ask permission; I just noticed the toothbrush there one morning by my sink. I pretended not to see it. Ostrich. I tried to convince myself she had forgotten it and that the next time she came over she would surely retrieve the toothbrush.
"Weddings are so big now, because the baby boomers' kids, the echo baby boomers, are all starting to get married in 2006 and so we are expecting a major increase in the number of weddings."
Yet, since the first time I saw the thing (and instantly began using the guest bathroom in my apartment to avoid the trauma of being caught off guard by the sight of the toothbrush), she has come and gone, come and gone and come and gone and come and gone and the toothbrush has remained behind, lingering. And the toothbrush is no longer alone. There is now a shirt, a bra, a notebook, some perfume and a purse—all having taken up residence in my place. What could this mean?
On the way into Cashman, the brides-to-be were all given little heart stickers to wear, which they universally found cute until it was discovered that the sticker was meant to mark them for the vendors. The vendors attacked the intendeds with the naked aggression of car salesmen. Brides-to-be were charged by salespeople offering a pushy "Congratulations," and then feigned interest in such wedding plans that led quickly to how the lucky, talented and beautiful bride ("have you ever seen such a lovely bride, oh you have made all great decisions so far and, yet, I am afraid to ask, what have you decided to do about….") could benefit from whatever they sold. And it wasn't just cake-makers, photographers, chapels and invitation printers that brides were being urged to purchase. There were cosmetic dentists, loan centers (undoubtedly to pay for everything else) and even a medical center that offers brides injections called mesotherapy to help be thinner on the special day (the injections, the brochure claims, will allow you to "lose three inches in two weeks"—that sounds safe and healthy!). I watched one merchant actually block a pregnant bride's path to try to convince her to spin a wheel for a chance at a 10 percent discount on his product. She sidestepped him.
No one seemed to make any fuss over the grooms. The focus was all on the brides, many of whom had brought their mothers along while the intendeds lagged behind, bored. I was so glad not to be one of them. Even though the night I went to Cashman was date night, during which grooms got in free, there were overwhelmingly more women than men. A cute woman smiled at me and though she didn't have a heart sticker on, I avoided her gaze for fear that being here meant she was marriage-minded.
To get away from her I went back to buy a soda. While putting my money in the machine, out of a corner of my eye I noticed a bride-to-be at the machine next to mine drop a dollar on the ground. She looked down, and then ostentatiously made ready to pick it up. I continued getting my drink. Suddenly, the man behind me in line cut around, bumping my elbow to swiftly scoop up the dollar. He handed the bill back to the lady while offering her hearty congratulations on her upcoming nuptials. Then, rather than apologize, he glanced over my way with disgust as if to wonder what sort of man I could possibly be. One who is not marriage material, I thought, without shame.
It was still over 100 degrees when I walked to my car. Yet I breathed easier than the entire time I was in Cashman. I even jogged a little because I could not wait to get home to talk to someone about some items she forgot in my apartment.