Get Me to a Nunnery

At the ripe old age of 20, I am officially a spinster.
No, this is not The Onion. It’s Utah — the blessed state of Jell-O, polygamists and, of course, young marriages. Oh my gosh.
Let me begin by saying I am in no way opposed to marriage. If two consenting individuals want to join in holy matrimony, it’s none of my business to stop them. My instincts may urge me to sing out “Stop! In the name of love” at any wedding ceremony (an alternate, but also acceptable, version: “Get thee to a nunnery”), but I simply won’t.
And it’s not like young marriage is a new thing. Shakespeare married his wife Anne Hathaway when he was 18 years old (Hathaway, by today’s standards would be considered a cougar — she was 26). Likewise, Marilyn Monroe was 16 for her first marriage. And Marie Antoinette wed Louis XVI when she was just 14 years old.
But I am not a famous playwright, a sexy actor or ascending the throne of France. I say let them eat cake at someone else’s wedding, but not my own. On this point,, who endlessly spams my email inbox, seems to disagree with me (please note, I have solicited none of their dating services).
Nevertheless the majority of my friends (who may or may not belong to a popular Utah religion) are storming bridal shops, marching to the altar and causing a dire shortage of tacky cake toppers in the state. Most of them are not much older than me, leaving me a lonely old spinster at just 20 years of age by default. It’s not the title I had hoped for (I’d much rather be the “Administrative Coordinator of Noodle Shapes” for Macaroni & Cheese), but it’s a title I’m willing to accept and own with pride.
And while I can’t speak for the other single 20-year-olds in the world, I have learned from my bachelorette life that I am much too young for wedlock. I can’t make toast without burning it, and I can’t go five minutes without telling someone to shut up or calling them an idiot. To be frank, most people just flat-out annoy me. These things, including my general awkwardness and impatience, are not conducive to marriage.
Perhaps the young men and women of the Beehive State mature much faster than me. And that’s fine. But for those who know me personally, my immaturities are readily evident — I still think Uranus is a silly name for a planet, and I don’t hesitate to laugh when someone burps the alphabet (among my many talents, this, regrettably, is not one of them).
So instead of planning my nuptials, I’ve chosen to accomplish much more important things in life like Googling what TGIF stands for or convincing people that Bigfoot exists. And sometimes I eat Jell-O, too.
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