I’m 34, really clucky and have been with my boy for six years. My trouble is, there’s no ring, no sign of a ring and only a deer-caught-in-headlights look whenever marriage is mentioned (family gatherings are hell). I leave wedding mags lying around and always ooh and ahh over jewellery shop windows, but he just won’t take the hint. What’s up with that? Susie M
Beats me. But after spending years with Mr We’ll-Get-Married-Someday-Maybe-When-I’m-Forty-Five, I can relate. I often think if we found a way to harness all the thought women put into figuring out why commitmentphobic blokes won’t propose, we’d solve the world’s energy crisis and drive cars powered on rhetorical questions rather than radically overpriced fuel. Yes, I’m just a big superhero hippy at heart.
Some say marriage isn’t everything and as devil’s advocate I have to ask: what’s the big deal? You’re living together, do you really need the ring? As reality chick, it kind of sounds like you sorta do – and that’s OK. I’m all for listening to your gut and if yours is saying, ‘Hello? I’m a catch, we’ve been together forever, why the heck hasn’t this dude taken me off the market yet?’ then it’s time for Plan B. Sweets, if he’s still doing his startled-fawn impersonation at rello bashes, dragging his feet past Tiffanys and using your bridal mags to rest his beer on, something tells me he just ain’t interested in making it legal. Six years, Susie. SIX YEARS. It’s a mighty big pond out there and I think it’s high time you went fishing.
Love, reality chick