7.7
I remember watching the news on July 7, 2007 and seeing a long line of couples at the courthouse. I was never jealous of married couples, but that day I was envious of those couples whose anniversary will always be 07/07/07. It is a perfect date.
Three years later I am still nowhere near the vicinity of marriage, nor do I have a burning desire to be. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel the pressure. I hear it all the time. My friends are slowly transitioning from celebrity tabloids to bridal magazines and studying the different cuts of diamonds. My father still talks about arranging something with his friend’s son, the millionaire in Korea, while my mom says her only wish in life is to be a grandmother. Ory and I have perfected our answer to the question, and always reply in sync: “Maybe in a couple years.”
My friend Christy just had a baby girl who is shy of a week old. I went to visit her today. Wherever the baby was, Christy’s husband was trailing behind with his giant tourist-like camera snapping away. The girl had her own paparazzi. I looked at them, the new family, and I was jealous. They seemed like the luckiest people in the planet, as if their lives were insignificant until this very moment when their girl arrived. The last time Ory and I were excited about something, it was when we saw the trailer for the next Harry Potter movie.
I’m not saying I want marriage or a baby right now, but this was the first time when 7/7 felt slightly insignificant for me. My life is mundane and stoic. I want to feel lucky.
