Middle Aged Marrying

Had you SUGGESTED I would marry (for the first time) at the age of 50...I would have laughed in your face.

Coffee (more like a crisp Chardonnay) would have sprayed from my nostrils.

Uh, thar' she blows: Kendal Jackson Reserve Chardonnay...

My desire to remain single was complicated.  I had loved and been loved.  I thought I wanted to marry a couple of times (they didn't want to).

A few men wanted to marry ME, (I didn't want to)...

I enjoyed a modest life by the beach and answered to no one. After 20 years I began to wonder if it was ENOUGH.

Something changed.

Job, relocation and a break up.  A wall of Rocky Mountains loomed on my horizon, blocking my view of the ocean.  Had the ocean lulled me into a coma?

I realized how alone I was, had always been.

My independence, to which I'd been wedded, stopped feeling rebellious, avant guard or unique...it felt like HIDING. A person can hide from intimacy for a lifetime. I was proof!

So I said "yes" to a nice man.

Independence is a state of mind, not a living arrangement.

I haven't set a date. My fiancé bribes me with things like Corvettes.  He assures the minute I utter, "I do" he'll buy me a Vespa.

Huh? You've never heard of a woman marrying for a Vespa?  I might be cheap, but I'm not free, mista'.

My nephews are crazy about him...possibly, mostly... the Corvette.

Next summer we'll do it...on the beach.  Not the "it" for which a drink was named (you filthy minded scoundrel) get married...jeez.

I enjoy being engaged.  It's like being married and single at the same time.

...the best of both worlds.