First Dance Commercialism (And Anger Management)

First off, let me say this. I am completely aware that I *might* currently be experiencing a heightened state of sensitivity. Ok. I’ll own that. And when I see something that has to do with sentimentality and matters of my poor heart, it probably doesn’t bode as well now as , say, two weeks ago when J and I were in Vegas together. But I gotta say. The degree to which I lost my ever-loving mind last evening while watching television bears discussion here.

Let me also say, as long as I’m dispensing disclaimers, that I am, by all accounts, the “anti-bride.” I’m not really very girly. I don’t really care if everything matches. The words “bunting” and “tulle” scare me. While there is no clinical evidence to support this claim, it’s possible I’m actually allergic to formal wear. Women who wear high heels strike me as masochistic, and ladies that take the time to “do themselves up” every day…yeah, I judge them a little. If I could live in jeans, a t-shirt and flip flops for the rest of my days, I would nay complain. (I do not own one pair of shoes that doesn’t rip my feet up. Not one. Not even the tennies.)

All of this backchat is by way of saying that the “wedding planning process” for me is not one of high stress and close attention to detail. I care…I really do. Just not that much. (Not about the wedding. The marriage yes. Just not the wedding.) I don’t have a wedding planner. I don’t have a notebook or a binder. There aren’t material samples anywhere in my house (or purse…or car…). I finally got talked into purchasing a bridal magazine (“you’ve gotta see what’s out there!!”) and you would have thought I was walking out of the store with pornography. I was flushed and hurried. I looked all around to see if anyone was watching, embarrassed enough to ask for a dark bag at the checkout line so that the nature of my purchase was obscured. (J assured me that all this business is fine now that I’m actually engaged. I still felt dirty.)

I guess, in my mind if there’s good food and an open bar, all my friends and family are in the same room, and at the end of the day J and I are married, well, we’re gonna call that mission success. (Yeah, I’ve picked up the lingo. I tried to fight it for awhile, but…whatever. It’s part of becoming the Army spouse, I’ve learned.)

However, one of the few parts of the wedding reception about which I care to think on is our first dance. J and I have a favorite artist. Like most couples, we have “a song” and our song is by “our artist.” And we always sorta hold that guy near to us because he’s not very popular. (You know, we’re obviously VERY hip to be exposed to such obscure and wonderful music that YOU are excluded from knowing about!) This guy had some commercial successes, a hit or two with his band quite awhile back. But really, he flourished and then sank back into obscurity in the early 80’s, and is now this wonderful solo artist who writes really beautiful songs that not very many people listen to. And we like a lot that he feels like our little secret.

One of his songs was the one playing when I realized that J was the guy for me. When I told J that the song made me think of him, I think he realized I was the girl for him (the song’s that good!!) But it’s not a good first dance song. There are two other songs of his that we hold dear to different times and parts in our relationship. And they are much better first dance tunes. We decided that it would be one of these two that would be our first dance song. This is one of the very few wedding details we did together and that we were able to complete before J left. All of this makes me very happy.

And then last night. Sitting there, minding my business, just working on lesson plans and watching American Idol (yeah, I know) and a commercial came on. A cheesy, horrible, pathetic, pretend-romantic, COMMERCIAL for a car company or a hotel chain or a cruise line or something. And they were playing our song. (Well, one of the two we were choosing from for our first dance.) And it wasn’t just a tidbit of the tune in the background while other things were going on. No no. It was a good 3rd of the song, gone by, unedited. Uninterrupted. The center of attention.

There is absolutely no logic, reason, explanation or excuse for the ire that I felt at that particular moment (nor the string of obscenities shouted at a blaring tv in an empty room...or the pillow I ever-so-lightly tossed (hurtled) at the television set.) How dare they pick our song to put on tv?! And shove our lovely little artist into the limelight and out of obscurity! Is nothing sacred!?! (Good on him, though, I suppose. I bet he’s making some bank which he totally deserves. But still. Clearly not the point.)

It's funny. Some people say that along with sadness and worry during deployment times, that people experience bouts of unexplained aggression and anger that come along with almost no warning and even less rationale.

Thank goodness there have been no outward signs of that here.

(P.S. Pillow thrown at television screen during commercial…to you I apologize. TV- we're still fighting.)