Hate It: Engagements

I’ve been asked a lot of questions in my life: “How are you?” “Are you drunk?” “Why are you crying?” but I’ve never been asked the one question that defines many lives: “Will you marry me?” And I’m totally fine with that, I swear. I don’t care that my dating profile doesn’t get hits from anyone other than 50-year-old wannabe producers, and I definitely don’t care that I’ve never been in a relationship for more than three days.

I’ve never been engaged and guess what: I don’t plan on it. I totally could; I’m just choosing not to.

Here’s my proposal: no one should ever put a ring on it. That’s because when people tie themselves down they become boring. They can talk about only one thing: being engaged. I know it’s shocking, but I don’t want to hear the four hour “romantic” story of how he proposed, while you two hold hands and finish each other’s sentences. The fact that he choreographed an interpretive dance that ended with a plane flying overhead, skywriting “I wuv you,” isn’t cute. It’s embarrassing to him and to you, not to mention the fact that it’s a waste of money, exhibiting poor budgeting skills. When you have to sell your ring to pay the electric bill, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Oh, I know. You’re “so in love” and “will be forever.” Forever is five years tops. But for now you want me to “ooh” and “aah” at the rock that will “never leave your finger.” I’ve seen diamonds before and let’s just say, I’m not impressed. The ring that you think is a symbol of commitment means one thing and one thing only: imprisonment. You’ve sold your freedom for a piece of carbonized coal.