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I was always the girl who knew when to cut and run. If a relationship was obviously not working out, I ended it and never looked back. But something changed in my mid-twenties. Engagement announcements, shower invites, and save-the-dates were all starting to flood my mailbox. They seemed to signal “Entering Adulthood,” and apparently I had some catching up to do. The guys I dated started bringing up the M-word as the inevitable next step, so I figured these were serious relationships that I had to invest time and effort in. Instead of throwing in the towel, I thought it was my job to fix what, looking back, were totally unfixable relationships. Like the trustafarian who claimed he was covering our expensive entrées at a group birthday dinner, only to shortchange all of my friends who ordered the pasta. Or the poet who developed a fake online identity and tried to seduce underage girls with verse he penned for me. Or how about that lying letch who wound up in some stewardess’s hotel room, taking seminude photos of her, which I was supposed to understand because it was all for his “art”?

What I missed while I was so busy trying to salvage these relationships was the fact that they weren’t even marriageworthy to begin with. If I had headed down the aisle when I thought I was supposed to because everyone I knew was making the trip—and hell, when I was younger, twenty-six sounded like the “right” age to be married—I would absolutely be divorced by now.

Thankfully, I came to my senses and reclaimed my singledom. Sure, it was rough in more than a few places for a while, but eventually I was okay with being on my own. I had great friends and family, a job I loved that let me travel the world, and then, sure enough, I met my current boyfriend. Finally, I have a fully functional relationship with a great guy, whom my friends actually like and invite to group functions. (And here I had always thought that they preferred to keep things girls-only. Now I know that they had actually just hated my exes.)

You’d think being in a loving relationship would stop the insanity, right? Wrong. At weddings we get questions like “So would you two have a big wedding or would you elope?” It’s tough to stay confident when you are constantly explaining your relationship to other people: “No, we are not married or engaged, but yes, we are happy and plan on staying together.” When enough people have asked you why you and your boyfriend aren’t married yet, it’s hard not to start asking yourself the same question and skewering your own relationship.

My boyfriend and I have gone to twelve–twelve!— weddings together so far and have five more this year, two of which are my brothers’. While one would think having two family weddings (three if you count my cousin) would ease the pressure, it only seems to have made things worse. That my younger brother is taking the plunge—and I’m cohabitating—fuels the fire. Mom “happens” to find her wedding dress one weekend while I’m home to visit; at a large family dinner, Dad says things like “I have a feeling there’s going to be another wedding next year.” He winks, I cringe.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t want to marry my boyfriend. It’s just that these winks and comments pile up in my head and reawaken the Cinderella fantasy I buried long ago. And then the freak-out begins. For example, what if he doesn’t propose this year? Does that mean he’s never going to? Have I ruined it because we moved in together? Why do these things matter when I’m not even sure I want a wedding? And if I don’t care about weddings, why did I get weepy watching the InStyle Weddings special in a Montreal hotel room (dubbed in French, no less, which I don’t speak a word of)?

I’m having a hard time figuring out exactly what I want when so many people have a vested interest in seeing me married off. It’s like I’m the solitary holdout among legions of the wedded who won’t rest until I’ve come over to their side. More and more, I find myself playing defense at weddings, gearing up for the inevitable questions and inaudible murmurings. While most of my peers have ceased with the bouquet toss (it’s more like “Pass me the baton and let’s call it a day already”) now I’m facing round two of weddings, the next generation. Nothing like getting dragged out for the bouquet toss and sharing the floor with giggling teenage girls and someone’s thrice-divorced, heavily Botoxed aunt, right? Sometimes my reasons for wanting to tie the knot are crazy: so I can give the finger (my ring finger. of course!) to all the inappropriate questions forever, plus we can get some Wüsthof knives out of the deal.

This is the book I wish had been available to me when I ended the relationship with the man I thought was “the one” in a back room of the banquet facility where my best friend had just gotten married. This is the book I wished I could have found when another friend got married and her Old-World Italian uncle said to me, “Whatta you gonna do now Emily married? Whya you no married, eh?” This is the book I hope will help you every time you pick up a voice mail message that says, “I’ve got big news.”