Petulant in Paradise
By Bonnie Trachtenberg
Hold on to your chair...your Big Day is here! There are vows and smiles, horas and toasts, kisses and well-wishes, all blurred into one surrealistic 'half-minute.' And by the end of your wedding day, with your aching feet and empty stomach, the last thing that may be on your mind is a night of passion with your new spouse. Okay, maybe not the last thing, but you both may be perfectly happy to collapse and take a romantic rain check for your honeymoon.
Aah, the honeymoon. The most perfectly enchanting two weeks of your life, right? Well maybe, but don't bet the Wedgwood on it. Remember, any time your expectation level soars above mid-range, chances are good you'll be in for some disappointments.
For instance, you never know just how your new spouse may react to the reality check of wedding vows, and what better way to vent those pent-up anxieties than in your paradise built for two? Why not? You have a captive audience and each other's undivided attention - day in and out. The stage is supremely set for a new phase of relationship development: Nerve Grating.
This is especially likely for couples who - as it is politely put - "complement" each other. Which means, of course, that the differences that attracted you can often put you at odds. With raised expectations and the word "forever" beginning to sink in, your irritable nature may start to ooze out.
My husband, (let's call him "D"), didn't even wait until we got to Italy to start our first post-nuptial tiff. It started before our flight left the gate. Now, D knows one of my pet peeves is, I don't like to be anywhere that I'm not welcome. His natural inclination, though, is to enjoy the best that life has to offer - even when it's not officially offered.
According to D, he had accrued enough frequent flyer miles to get us upgraded. According to the Continental check-in clerk, he was grossly mistaken. When, after 20 minutes of cajoling, complaining, arguing and kvetching we were still remanded to the discomfort and discourtesy of Coach Class, my stubborn husband decided we'd sit in Business Class anyway. When I refused, and sheepishly took my assigned seat, he copped a squat in one of the roomy recliners on the other side of the curtain and ordered some champagne. While I worried he'd mortify us by being thrown out - bodily, he salivated over the gourmet menu. While I prayed for leniency, he charmed the Business Class flight attendants.
Luckily, proving that he could get away with it was enough and he joined me in my "cozy" Coach hideaway. Of course now I had to listen to him complain about his aching back as we inched across the Atlantic. When we finally got there, I thought we'd completely relax and enjoy, but there was another vexation waiting in the land of cheese and pasta.
You see, before our wedding, I was thrilled when D trimmed down to look smashing in his white tie and tails. I was so proud and so relieved about his fitness routine, his calorie counting, his dedication. Little did I know he planned to gain back every ounce in record time. Did you know that it only takes five days of non-stop Italian food to accomplish this incredible feat?
So much for my expectations. While I was dreaming of sultry nights on the Isle of Capri and stolen kisses under the Tuscan sun, he was dreaming of linguine and clam al dente and triple scoops of gelato. And I thought we had our priorities aligned.
But guess what: I accomplished something in record time too. It only took me three days to become the stereotypical nagging wife: "You can't possibly be hungry again!" and "Didn't you say you were going to swim laps?" and, of course, the inevitable "Haven't the Italians discovered sushi yet?"
But when all is said and done it's really about compromise. D promised to diet the minute we hit domestic soil and I promised to lighten up and enjoy my vacation. Then we spent the rest of our honeymoon forgetting our differences and celebrating our similarities. After all, that's why we were there.
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