There's something about weddings that both delight people and make them think they're owed detailed information about your personal life. In my experience, this is even more true when you are in your 30s, when it is not your first marriage, and when you have kids. When my husband and I got married, our situation met all three criteria in that trifecta of wedding-related nosiness. There are so many infuriating questions people will ask you directly after you're married.
Some of them don't seem so bad. Questions like, "How did you meet?" and "How long have you known each other?" aren't particularly intrusive, until you answer them a few hundred times and your responses are met with raised eyebrows. Some are super misogynistic. I don't remember anyone ever asking my husband if he was taking my name or if he planned to work outside the home. Others were just super inappropriate and frankly none of anyone else's damn business. No, I'm not pregnant, and we aren't sure if we are going to have more kids. Did you seriously just ask me if we got married because I was knocked up? Shame on you.
Our family is not conventional at all. Not even close. And while I understand that our story may be a little hard to follow for the white bread, small town, traditional crowd, it is perfectly us. So, the next time you decide to let your curiosity take over about someone else's relationship or wedding plans, stop and ask yourself, "What would Miss Manners say?"
The answer: "Let them have their special day. It's not about you."
"Are You Pregnant?"
No. Just stop. Never ask this question.
"Why Did You Get Married?"
For tax reasons. Kidding. Totally for health insurance. Nope, that's not it, either. I must be pregnant (see above). Or after his money (seriously?). It couldn't possibly be because we freaking love each other and wanted to formalize that love in front of family and friends and spend the rest of our lives together. That would be craziness.
"Are You Planning To Have Another Child?"
Seriously, can we put a moratorium on our family planning and future childbearing. None of your business. For the record, we just had a baby together, so the answer was yes, but we didn't know it at the time.
"What Do Your Kids Think?"
A mix. Mostly surprised. They knew we were engaged, but we got married just a week later in a surprise ceremony at the zoo under the shark tunnel in the aquarium. My sister performed the ceremony. It was perfect. Our oldest kids were a bit disappointed that we didn't have a huge traditional wedding with flowers and cake and were surprised, because we didn't tell them in advance of the ceremony. (Our kids can't keep secrets).
"Where Will You Live?"
Wherever our family lives together will be our home.
"Are You Changing Your Name?"
I don't know. Why don't you ask my husband that? Next.
"Are You Going On A Honeymoon?"
Yep, but not right away. We ended up having an amazing adventure, despite the challenges of taking time away from our busy lives and kids. Thank goodness for grandparents.
"Are You Going To Work Outside The Home?"
Why would my career plans change because I said, "I do?" That's a pretty sexist assumption, don't you think?
"How Long Have You Known Each Other?"
In my experience, people only ask this question when they think you haven't known each other long enough to get married or they think you should have gotten married years ago. Don't. Seriously. Who wants to feel judged for getting married on their wedding day?
"Where Did You Meet?"
The internet. Where do you think we met? We were both busy, divorced, working parents. There's no shame in meeting on the internet, so stop with the raised eyebrows and side eyes. Technology gave us an opportunity to really get to know each other even before our first date. I fell in love with him during late night chats about our kids and dystopian fiction, long emails and quick texts about our future, hopes and dreams, and later FaceTime each night until we fell asleep. Two techno geeks used tech to write a modern love story.
"Is This One Gonna Last?"
I hope so, because I can't imagine my life without him.