Insurrection in Matrimonia

I love creme brulee. It's a delicious french dessert, and it never fills you up, and yet somehow you end up regretting it, but in a good way. But my favorite part is the crispy sugary crust that coats the top of the underlying gooiness... and this is where that tangent ends. However, the tangent did have a point, and it was that sometimes, there is a gooey exterior hidden underneath a sometimes brittle or sugary topping.

In the first case, I would like to point out exibit A. The roomate, I think we're calling her Ohara, who is actually a lot like me. You see, at first, I had her pegged as one of those girls who is, ah... shall we say, kind of a brat. Daddy's girl, different boy every week, yada yada yada... but in short, I was way off. She's actually a super nice, way cool person who is secretly hilarious. And then there's Helga. Exhibit B. I somehow managed to leave this out last time, but ironically enough my second (obviously not the first, which was the "I hate animals" convo) impression of her was pretty good. She seemed nice, actually. And this is where we draw the line between the creamy broads and the rotten fruits.

See, we had a conversation in my house tonight that didn't just scare me, it kinda terrified me. Because somehow, it started out as a free-for-all making fun of engagement pictures time, and before we knew it, most of the cynics present had brought out their prototype wedding rings and were comparing band sizes and carat preferences. Can I just say AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
UUUUGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ?

I appear to be living with a house full of closet matrimoniphiles. Are you SERIOUS!? Here, I thought that moving into an older ward of house dwellers was like anti-engagement insurance. And now I see I've unwittingly joined the secret chapter of Marriage Hopefuls Anonymous.

I mean, don't get me wrong, marriage to the "right one" is great and everything, but I tend to look at is more as a life-changing pact between two people who are really, really into each other. Not so much as an institution that must be adhered to, or a final clause in a contract that one has to complete before graduation, or else.

But although I am a confirmed and dedicated member of the Insurrectionists of Matrimonia guerilla party, I have to stop and wonder when moments of honest insanity like this happen: are we all (and by we, I mean single women in Provo) really just kidding ourselves? Is everyone really just trying to display themselves to their best husband-catching advantages, like in a Jane Austen novel? Meanwhile man-hating facades decorate every other doorway and spiteful literations abound, but all we really seek is an end to our false desire for independance? We advertise ourselves as big game, more impressive and worth a considerable challenge, but we seem to put up a surprisingly pathetic struggle when the hunters actually do come calling.

It's a little like a theme park, actually. (And when I run out of analogies, I'll let you know.) All signs advertise a big scare and lots of adrenaline fueling escapades, but gosh darn if there isn't lots of cotton candy and seatbelts to destroy the illusion of a real adventure. Kid stuff, really. And I'm partially joking about the cotton candy. It's delicious, even if it really is just spun sugar with a little high-fructose corn syrup (which is essentially, sugar) and a little flavoring thrown in.

All I'm really saying is... Girls, honestly. If we really expect people to believe our declarations of stand-alone awesomeness, shouldn't the coating go all the way to the inside? And not just a fake diploma or two (Ahem, MFHD...) to throw off the scent of desperation? Let's just be WHO WE REALLY ARE. (Whether that be sassy know-it-alls, wish-we-could-be-bad girls, or scary German perfectionists...seriously scary ones) Because, we AREN'T catalogue entries or items on a dessert menu.

And inevitably, I think the men we're truly after (but say we aren't) won't be looking just at the surface, anyway.