I recently helped my parents shop for new wedding rings in honor of their 30th wedding anniversary. On one of our many trips to the jewelry store, I decided to find out my ring size just in case 2018 is the year I need to have this information handy (I learned it's 6.5). At this point, you should be laughing hysterically, not because you know I'm woefully single but because I have serious commitment issues. Instead of saving this tiny detail for my husband-to-be, I made my ring size my Tinder bio because, well, why not? Let's blast through those commitment issues now.
I have never imagined my wedding day, envisioned the perfect wedding dress, written pretend vows, or planned a Hollywood-inspired proposal in my head. In fact, I'm not even sure I want to get married. I'm not opposed to spending my life with one person; I just don't see the need to proclaim my desire to do so in a church (I was raised Catholic), in front of 100 people whose dinner and drinks are now on me. It's not my idea of a good time. Call me cynical but I don't think putting vows in writing guarantees that my spouse and I will love each other for better or for worse. I mean, what if they turn out to be the worst? Then we're forced to plow through even more paperwork to cancel this whole ordeal.
What I'm saying is, I think marriage is a high-risk, low-reward business deal — at least for right now. But when I learned that married people are generally happier than their single counterparts, I wondered if I should reconsider my stance.
I decided to challenge my hesitation toward marriage like any mature adult would — by asking random guys on dating apps to put a ring on it. According to a recent survey by ProFlowers, more than 90 percent of Americans believe that women shouldn't be afraid to make the first move. So I did!
Full disclosure: Some of these guys were way more eager to get hitched than I may ever be.
Paul tried exchanging the usual pleasantries at the beginning of our conversation. But since the patriarchy wants me to believe that an unmarried woman of a certain age is cursed or whatever, we gotta move things along, Paul.
He obliged, asking me what kind of ring I had my heart set on. I replied with a GIF from Bob's Burgers that said, "Look at that ring. It looks like a disco ball. She's got Studio 54 on her hand." And explained that was the exact reaction I was hoping to get from people.
Paul had some conditions. Please pay attention. Firstly, he would need to establish that I'm a "lady in the street" and a "freak in the sheets." Secondly, I would need to "treat [him] like a king" and "then" (!!!) he would treat me "like a queen," diamonds and all.
Now, I thought for sure that this was a verse from a song I hadn't heard of but I Googled it and that doesn't seem to be the case (correct me if I'm wrong; God, I hope I'm wrong).
Unfortunately, these are, in fact, his actual thoughts. So. Yeah.
Doug called me "beautiful" right away so I figured he was here to class up the joint. Plus I have to give Doug credit here since this is legitimately one of my Tinder photos.
Anyway, I told him about my quest — via GIF, of course.
Doug replied with a charming, "You sexy as hell," to imply that he would have no problem marrying me for this reason. Again, please refer to my photo above.
When asked what I like to do for fun, I told Doug that apart from ring shopping, I enjoy long walks down the aisle and dressing up in glamorous, white gowns.
This is when Doug's strategy (and limited vocabulary) revealed itself. He was just rapid-firing compliments in place of actual conversation. Evidently, I would look "so sexy" in a wedding gown. And isn't that what every bride wants to hear?
Branden started off with what I assume is a very dirty joke that I didn't find amusing at all. (Branden, I hope your Mom sees this). I told him, in no uncertain terms, that neither of his offers appealed to me and that what I really wanted was a diamond ring.
Branden told me that he couldn't just give me a ring — astonishing since I didn't think it was too much to ask for after what he'd asked me.
In exchange for a ring from this gentleman, apparently I need to go on "at least" two dates with him. That seems like a lot of effort on my part. Hard pass.
For some reason, Bek thought the measurement in my bio was my height, completely ignoring the ring emoji. He assumed that I was 6'5" when in reality, I'm just the opposite — 5'6".
When I corrected him, he assumed that my decision to include my ring size on Tinder meant I was "pretty serious," which is fair. But if guys can put their heights in their bios, why can't I put what matters to me?
Bek wasn't exactly satisfied with this response; he still wanted to know what I was looking for on Tinder. I told him what I tell most people on there — that I don't really have an exact end goal in mind — but followed it up with a self-contradictory GIF of Beyoncé demanding a ring. I'm here to wreck your life, Bek.
Bek gave me his stamp of approval, which was probably a mistake. I'm not here for fun and games — I'm here for diamonds.
Dominic addressed me like we'd already been married for a decade. He even misspelled my name so I knew the magic was truly gone. He said he was on his way to the store and asked if I needed anything, to which I replied with three ring emojis. I meant business.
Unfortunately, wherever Dominic chose to do his shopping only stocked two diamond rings at once so the other one is on its way. Or so I thought.
My husband-to-be, willing as he was to fulfill my every demand, felt that we needed to get to know each other better before the big day.
His opening question? He wanted to know what my drink of choice was. Luckily, we both enjoy Scotch so that simplifies things as far as the reception goes, which Dominic noted with a timely statistic about how many engaged couples split over wedding planning details.
Dominic and I went on to discuss our hobbies. Well, I did anyway. He seemed so caught up in getting to know me that he, regrettably, forgot that marriage is a two-way street.
Once we sorted out our communication issues, we discovered that since we both enjoy traveling, a destination wedding seems most appropriate.
I suggested the Biltmore Estate in North Carolina where I've attended a handful of million-dollar weddings in the past (this is important because I need you to envision just how grand this place is).
Luckily, his best man already lives in North Carolina (what?!) but he's not opposed to a tropical wedding, either. I couldn't tell him that my parents' house in the Caribbean (where I'm from) was also an option because things were already getting a little weird.
Still not sold on the Biltmore, his logic was that the 8,000-acre property was too small since we should have at least 3,000 acres per ring. We're now in talks to build our very own wedding castle. Obviously.
Dominic's last line felt almost poetic. "If you want it done right, sometimes you've just got to do it yourself," which is exactly why I took the initiative to include my ring size in my dating bio.
Well, maybe I did it for the laughs but hey! Now I have my very own castle and lots of diamonds so I'd say things worked out pretty well.
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