\”So, when are you getting married?\” asks anyone who knows I got engaged last May. They all seem to take on the New York inflection of my mother, even my black Southern ex-girlfriend from Georgia.
\”You guys know I love Carrie very much, and I\’m going to ask her to marry me. I\’d like to get your blessing.\”
It was only last October when I penned the column, \”No Rush,\” for this paper, arguing against marriage.
For the first time in my adult life I\’m dating a Jewish girl.
Her father\’s Catholic — an Italian — but according to my
rabbi, \”She\’s all good.\”
(Maybe he didn\’t use those exact words, but something to that effect.)
Carrie and I bicker but never have any real fights; that is not until Christmastime. She was raised with Christmas in her house. Chanukah was a pool they may have dipped their toes into out of some traditional obligation, but it was Christmas that they jumped into cannonball style.
Lately it seems as if everyone I know is interested in me getting married. In fact, the person pressuring me the least is my girlfriend, Carrie.
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