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Zusatztext “Darkly funny ruminations on getting hitched.” –People “Refreshingly unsentimental.” – O! The Oprah Magazine Informationen zum Autor COLLEEN CURRAN was engaged for three years before she planned her own wedding. Fearful of the process and confused by what it meant to plan a wedding, she set out to find out how other women view weddings today. Her stories have been published in places like Jane and The Dictionary of Failed Relationships . Whores on the Hill was her debut novel and is available from Vintage Books. She married her fiancé this past summer, after beginning work on this anthology, and is now happily married in Richmond, Virginia, where she lives and works. Klappentext Original essays by Top Women Writers Julianna Baggott _ Curtis Sittenfeld _ Catherine Ingrassia _ Elizabeth Crane Lara Vapnyar _ Lisa Carver _ Carina Chocano _ Rory Evans _ Jennifer Armstrong _ Elise Mac Adam _ Janelle Brown _ Daisy de Villeneuve _ Meghan Daum _ Amy Sohn _ Samina Ali _ Farah L. Miller _ Gina Zucker _ Kathleen Hughes _ Jacquelyn Mitchard _ Ruth Davis Konigsberg _ Lori Leibovich _ Julie Powell _ Jill Eisenstadt _ Anne Carle _ Amanda Eyre Ward _ Amy Bloom _ Dani Shapiro Anyone who is intimated by the prospect of planning a wedding will laugh out loud and take solace in Altared. In this unexpected, heartwarming, thought-provoking collection, more than two dozen of our most perceptive and entertaining writers offer a wide range of takes on the modern wedding. It's all here. Fantasies. Realities. Fond memories. A few regrets. From planning it to doing it and everything in between.chapter 1 taking the vow the child bride (and groom) julianna baggott Q THE BEGINNING I was only twenty-three years old when I got married Dave was twenty- six. By today’s standards of arrested adult development, regression, and ever-rising life expectancy rates, I was a child, and maybe Dave was, too. In any case, that’s what it felt like and, with each anniversary we celebrate, we seem to have been younger and younger way back when we got married. I met my husband, Dave, in grad school at the very first party of the year. A month later, we were on a road trip together. We pulled off I-95 to have sex in a Red Roof Inn, midday. This is astonishing only in that we were so damn poor. Sex at a Red Roof Inn was a huge luxury. There, perhaps inspired by the grandeur, lounging under the orange comforter, he told me that he wanted to spill his guts. I said, “Okay.” He said, “I really like you.” Now this didn’t strike me as spilled guts. We’d been inseparable since we first met. He’d just taken me to a family reunion and, on the way, he’d met my parents. We’d pretty much covered the liking, even the really liking. I said, “I don’t think that constitutes having spilled your guts.” “How about this?” He paused and then said, “I’m in love with you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Now this, this was spilled guts. It was completely courageous and elegant—even amid the Red Roof Inn decor with its paintings bolted to the walls. I took it as a proposal. I said, “Yes,” as in I accept, as in I do. “I love you too.” I should stop right here and say that everything from here on out in this essay is foofaraw. This is the essential moment that Dave and I consider to be the start of our marriage—not the wedding itself. Embedded in every marriage, there is a true moment when your hearts sign on for good. It doesn’t necessarily happen when the guy mows Will you marry me? into your lawn or trains a puppy to bring you a velvet box. It doesn’t necessarily happen in the white hoop gown or because some exhausted justice of the peace says so. It usually happens in some quiet moment, one that often goes unregistered. It can happen while you’re brushing your ...
