Anything But That

“WHAT???!!! YOU’RE GOING TO DIE ALONE????!!!” blurted out my tweenaged daughter after I told her that I don’t want to get married again. I didn’t mean to shock her. I was just absent-mindedly answering her question about when I thought I would get remarried, which she took as a given as certain as the presumption that all people would choose to be thin or rich, if either opportunity presented itself.

“Of course not!” I replied. ‘I’ll be surrounded by my devoted dogs and a sarcastic, foul-mouthed cockatoo after being crushed to death by my massive collection of Ryan Reynolds memorabilia, acquired over the course of four decades,’ I thought to myself, but did not say out loud because I’m not always a f*ckup as a parent.

Like many recently divorced people, I can’t even fathom getting married again. It’s like asking the puke-soaked still-queasy person who just vomited his guts out all over the compartment of the Zipper, 'Hey, when are you going to get back on that crazy carnival ride again? And here, eat this big tub of caramel corn. You look hungry.' Hmmm…let me think. How about never?

Even though I have a wonderful boyfriend with whom I have just settled into a committed relationship, I can’t imagine saying ‘I do’ to the idea of “forever” again. It seems reckless and foolhardy, as if I were tempting fate to bitchslap me with *both* hands this time, along with 25 spinning hook kicks to the head and a few Three Stooges eye pokes for good measure.

I just don’t see the benefits of marriage for me at this time in my life. As a way of ensuring commitment in a relationship, marriage is about as effective as abstinence is as a form of birth control. They both work great. Right up to the day they don’t. When both people are on the same page, marriage or abstinence can work just fine, until one person starts to question his/her commitment to the marriage or abstinence.

So, ask me for anything but that. You want me to go halfsies on a timeshare in Arkansas? No problem! You want me to co-sign a loan to open a store that sells nothing but greeting cards because you think snailmail is going to make a comeback? You bet! You want me to donate a kidney? You got it! You want my hand in marriage? Um…sure. You can have it right after I amputate it like that rock-climbing dude in 127 Hours who amputated his own hand when it became pinned underneath a boulder.

Anything but that.