They say tis the season to be jolly. To deck the halls with boughs of holly. What they don’t say is that tis also the season to deck your gf’s ring finger with a dazzler. 

Not even taking the piss, everytime I log into Facebook (which is quite the regular I must say; a quick rifle through the old newsfeed when waiting in a queue/travelling in a car – not driving of course, upstanding citizen -/[insert other mundane activity here] has yet another couple agreed upon to tie the shackles. 

It used to be those a good three, four years older than myself. The 26-year-old-and-above brigade. Then a fair few from my own year level took the leap. Now the old engagement status seems to be garnering a couple of couples a couple of years my junior. Have a ring to it? (Apologies. I had to). 

Marriage has never been something I’ve had as a must have in the pipeline. If it happened, fantastic! If not, “shrug”. I don’t have anything against it, I love actual ceremonies (I’m a wedding celebrant for Cripes sake) and I get super stoked when a long standing pairing take that next step, but it’s never been on my to-do list. 

But suddenly I’ve found myself a little longing. As I see Grace/Dan/Nicole/Cam/Sam/Olivia/Shaun/etc upload photos of proposals on the beach, on hilltops and in the sky (seriously, hiring a helicopter?) I feel a few stirrings of the old emerald eyes. 

On NYE I ’twas at a shindig in a cluster of about seven girls. The standard, “What are you doing now?” made the rounds and – no jokes – all bar me was either married or engaged to be so in the next year or two. At every female’s responses I piped up with, “I’m going travelling!” and it became a great old jolly haha. 

I looked at each of them in turn and felt a pang. Would I ever be like them? Would I find a significant other, shed the Wortman name, outstretch my hand so all could catch sight of my pearler? (Though I’ve always said I’d much rather have a damn good holiday than a rock. Potential husbands, take note). Then a friend of mine arrived at the parlay.

Two years older than me, single as a toilet cubicle and doing whatever the fuck she wants whenever she wants with no consideration for any partner, she was bouyant with contentment. “Who needs a man?” We drunkenly shrieked as we clasped hands and twirled around to the Peppers, as all the other girls tended to comatose hubbys and chundering to-be’s. 

This morning I woke up a little ashamed of my slight envy at all the engaged. Why, I am an independent, blissfully single woman! I want to cavort about the world, take off for adventures at a moment’s notice, all that lark (which I could still do with a hub I guess, but go with it); a wedding definitely isn’t on my agenda for the next four to fourteen years. 

And plus I can have all the festivities without the actual union; just marry lots of couples and be in wedding parties! Sensational. 

I love seeing those in long, loving relationships taking that next step. But being envious? No mate. It’ll happen if it’s meant to. And if not? Well, wanderer until my dying days sounds glorious. 

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