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I have a question, and I need an answer. A lot of my friends have recently gotten married, and aside from realizing my calling in life is to be a professional groomsman a la Kevin Hart in The Wedding Ringer or whatever the movie is called, it’s made me think about the logistics of a honeymoon. These things are typically one to two weeks long. Just the two of them. That’s insane. At what point do you just run out of things to say?
Let’s say it’s day one. You got married last night, spent most of the day sleeping intermittently on a flight and stumbling around an airport with an emotional hangover from the supposed best day of your life and whatnot the day prior. You get to the location — some resort, probably — and settle into a nice dinner. Fifteen minutes of talking about how nice the place is and how good your food is before it feels like you can relax. You’re obviously comfortable with your life partner by now, seeing as you just committed to them, but maybe there are some nerves regarding the recent shift in relationship status, so things feel a tiny bit off. Not a bad off, just off. Whatever. You focus on the food. When you get back to your place and are done talking about how nice the view is, you’re both tired and want to toss on a movie and fall asleep halfway through, but you feel pressure to not be lame and boring so you force conversation and go to bed early, albeit a little stressed.
Breakfast in bed is nice, and of course, it prompts the standard conversation about how nice everything is, but you’re so sick of that trite conversation that it feels almost surreal, like you’re not even saying the words, they’re just involuntarily coming out of your mouth. It really is nice, though, you can’t lie. By the time you’re at the beach with your newly bloated body, the sugar rush from your French toast is settling in and you really just want to lay on a lawn chair and grab a Pina Colada. You do that, and bring a book. Realistically, you can’t make it through a chapter because of the way technology has ruined your attention span, so you turn to the so-called love of your life and ask them about their book. They make up something to sound intelligent because they’ve hardly cracked it open and don’t remember anything, but they’re still in the habit of pretending to be better than they are to you, and of course these habits are difficult to unlearn.
You survive the first full day of the honeymoon and go through your routine, perfunctory intimacy and all. The silence is your favorite part; the anxiety at the thought of what is supposed to be the best time of your life feeling like a chore and the implications of that is the worst. A blessing comes through; you received the first portion of wedding photos from your overpriced photographer. After dismissing the nagging voice inside your head screaming that the money you spent on that one day will never be justified and reminisce on your beautiful day. The photos not only provide conversation to get you through breakfast, but also segue your focus into all the friends and family you’d just been entertaining for the previous week, and your stupid little stories about them serve as conversational fodder for the rest of the afternoon.
But it’s only day three. And I don’t know how you spend a week with someone you love. If you hated them, fine. You can fight, you can ignore, you can do your own thing. But if you love them and want to be your best self around them, how do you make it through a week without separating to go hang out with your own friends or even just be by yourself?
I mean I could just ask the aforementioned friends who have gotten married recently, but if they don’t read my articles, then they’re not really my friends anyway. .