When Roger and I became engaged, we were very happy. I think we were happy for the same basic reasons: we had found the spouse of our dreams. We were going to start a life together. We were going to live together. Things like that. But I believe we also had some secondary reasons for bliss that were unique to each of us. I think Roger’s secondary reasons included visions of me in fishing waders reeling in a catch just like he taught me.
Or other similar camping scenarios. I’m cool with that. But the fourth or fifth thought that I had after engagement was, “We get to REGISTER.”
Now, I am not an extremely materialistic person and, believe it or not, I’m not a shopaholic either. I freeze up with too many choices (remember? Click here.) But for the past two years I have had a growing urge to set up house. I have set up a couple apartments but have always resisted making them TOO homey because I didn’t want to collect too much stuff. As it is, I have a storage unit half full of stuff that I found at garage sales and on the side of the road. Hey, they still work with a coat of paint. I used to tell my friends that I was going to register for grown-up household goods for my 30th birthday. I’m not sure if I was joking so I am SO glad I don’t have to follow through with that. Roger’s response to the whole registry business was classic.
“We have to register? As what?”
After explaining that we did not have to go on an American Master List of Engaged Couples, I asked if the registry was a thing in Australia. Apparently it is. And that is when I realized that there will be things that I assume “aren’t Australian traditions” when in actuality, it’s just not a Roger tradition. It will be fun through the years to see how this unfolds. This reminds me of the famous Entree Conversation.
Roger: Girl that I’ve only dated a week and want to impress, Brent wants to have us over to eat some fish he caught.
Erin: Okay, man that I am so nervous around that I can’t quite look in the face yet, is there enough fish for four?
Roger: Well, we can eat the fish as an entree and something else for the main dish.
Erin: Now I can look you in the face because you said something very silly. Entrees ARE main dishes.
Roger: No, girl that I am still trying to impress, you are being silly. “Entree” means “to enter”, it is the starter.
Erin: In my family, we settle this kind of thing with a dictionary.
Erin: “Entree: Definition #1 Main course to a meal.” Something smug.
Roger: Ok, is there a definition #2?
Erin: Oh. Yes. “In a fancy meal, entree is an appetizer or starter.”
Roger: (Smiles devastatingly handsome smirk)
Erin: But it was definition number TWO.
Roger: Yes, in the American Heritage Dictionary.
Now that we have been engaged for three weeks, we are older and wiser and don’t have knowy-pants disputes like that anymore. No, really.
So last night we walked the aisles of Target with a Powerful Ray Gun. And Roger decided he does like registering. He only had a few brief Boy Moments in which he used outer-space voices and aimed the gun at several unpurchasable humans but I chalked that up to male nerves and reassured myself with the fact that at least he wasn’t running in circles bonking his head and yelling like younger versions of his gender do when confronted with something completely new and slightly overwhelming. Like linens. Plus, he’s fun and I started the Ray Gun game anyway.
We are having a small wedding in Waimea. The registry is not the most important thing. The important thing is that I am marrying the best human I have ever met and if he knew everything about dinner settings and thread counts, I would be worried. Thank you Jesus for a man with patience and an excellent sense of humor. He’ll need it with a knowy-pants like me.