This weekend, the NY Times ran an opinion piece by Elizabeth Wurtzel called Getting Married Is Easy: Why I Will Be Wed.
If you don’t know, Elizabeth Wurtzel was the literary It Girl in the 90s, when she wrote a hot-topic book called Prozac Nation. I didn’t read it because she annoyed me just by appearing all over the press and at every party — even ones I went to. (“Oh, you didn’t see? Elizabeth Wurtzel was just here. She was right over there, in leather pants. She’s so hot.”) And because, though I’m obsessed with drugs, prescription ones don’t interest me. If you write a book called Crack Nation, count me in. Something you got from your doctor? Feh.
But I did read her column in the Times, and it seals the deal: I was right to dislike her based on nothing.
I would never be friends with this person.
Why? Well, look at the title. “Getting Married Is Easy.”
It’s all about how she used to be crazy and un-marry-able, and pick crazy, un-marry-able boyfriends, and that now that she decided to stop doing those two things, boom! She can get married. To a man who’s “smart and handsome and talented and decent.”
…It is easy to get married: about 90 percent of Americans still do at some time in their lives. No self-help industry is required. People who want to get married stop behaving like fools for love and start acting intelligently. It is as simple as wanting to be happy.
What bugs me about that?
It’s written entirely from the POV of a hot person. Someone who’s always been hot. Someone who could pose like this for the cover of her book and not be told, DON’T EVER MAKE THAT FACE AGAIN.
Her piece assumes that life is a never-ending Beefsteak Charlie’s salad bar of hotties, with mixed lettuces and cherry tomatoes over here, and there are the croutons, and ooh, bottomless shrimp bowl over there, and why not take an extra plate for the baked potato skins with different toppings so they don’t get mixed up with your salad dressing?
It’s all there for the taking. Abbondanza! Mangia!
All you have to do is choose the healthy option. Forgo the potato skins for some leafy greens. She’s like, “Look at me! I finally skipped the cracked out losers and filled my plate with emotionally grounded hottie.”
In other words? Just make the right choice at the men buffet, ladies.
Again, I can’t be friends with that person.
This is someone who, during middle school and high school, never once wondered, “Why don’t boys like me?”
Who never had a boy come over and say, “Can you introduce me to your friend?”
Who never, on a family trip to Club Med, hung out with two girls who were way cuter than she was plus a guy who wanted to get it on with both of them, and ended up sitting at the feet of those three people, slightly off the beach blanket, drinking a beer, looking awkwardly up at the stars, and listening to sloppy saliva sounds while they took turns making out.
(She also probably never spent part of that vacation trying to cover up a splotchy armpit sunburn with Johnson & Johnson’s baby powder, but that’s another story.)
This is someone who never spent an evening waiting for her date to show up, dialing her answering machine over and over from a restaurant pay phone, praying something DID happen to him…only to get the stunningly unapologetic explanation, “Oh yeah, I was at the movies! Freddy Krueger! It was off the hook!”
This is also one of those women who, one day, will tell her grandchildren, “Oh goodness, I’ve had so many suitors and so many marriage proposals, darling. And still continue to, goodness knows! Because I wear the right bra.” You think that person only exists in bad movies, but this is her, and she wrote this:
It is my good fortune never to have wed the 374 or so men I dated before Jim. I don’t know how many times I should have registered at Tiffany and celebrated extravagantly for the mistakes I did not make. I would have many remarkable sets of silver, serving spoons included. I would own gravy boats galore.
Look, I have no complaints in the marriage department.
I got to marry the man I love, someone who’s smart and handsome and talented and decent, and also funny and stylish and neat and great-smelling, even after a workout because he sweats mint (I’m not kidding).
But damn if I didn’t have to put in some good time and patience to get to the part where he wanted to marry me. I knew when I met him that I wanted to marry him, but I didn’t get to say, “That man will be my husband. And it will happen swiftly.”
And guess what? I have friends who aren’t married, and really want to be. Some try to find someone, some don’t – but it’s not like they’re all sorting through 374 possibilities and just trying to find the one who’s not only gorgeous, but also sane.
Not everybody is so sizzling that being married or not being married is simply a matter of which stud muffin you pick.
And I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t get that.
Unless I meet her at a party and she’s so bizarrely nice to me and actively wants to be my friend. Then, I’ll change my mind about her, and take this blog post down.
What’s your take on this?
Or, have you ever been to Beefsteak Charlie’s?
TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS.