The Curvy, Silver Nut Bowl

By Allison Kaplan

I want my fiance to have an equal say in the myriad decisions surrounding our wedding.

Provided his opinions match mine.

I had this romantic notion that the man I love would love the same things I do. Of course at the time, I didn't know I would become enamored with Calvin Klein dinnerware, but now I am. And he's not.

A few months ago, my life was complete despite the fact that my entire cookware collection cost $19.99 --regular price--at Target. I was unfazed by mismatched plates. And I wasn't losing any sleep over the knives which sometimes bend like rubber when thrust into a carrot.

But then you get engaged and even napkins become a major decision. Mothers, aunts, married friends keep beating into you: Stainless steel All-Clad! Their point is, you're going to get wedding gifts, they might as well be the things you want.

Only I have no idea what I want. I fail to see what's so special about non-stick pans--why would any pan purposely be manufactured to stick? Just the idea that someone would really buy us hundreds of dollars worth of pans boggles my mind.

We're going to be living with these choices for years --decades even (God willing). I don't want to be reminded with every sip of apple juice that the glasses I chose were too narrow at the rim.

Which is why I told Rustin he could pick the drinking glasses.

Rustin doesn't understand registering for wedding gifts. He doesn't see why we suddenly need things like a bundt pan when we've managed so nicely without.

People are going to buy us gifts, whether we want them to or not, I tell Rustin. This is an opportunity to set up our home, and friends enjoy helping us along. Maybe we won't use the bundt pan today, but years from now when we have children, and host holiday dinners, we'll be grateful for that bundt pan.

Realize, I didn't come up with any of this. My mother's brainwashing just got to me before Rustin.

So we went to the store, in search of a household.

I gravitate toward bright and contemporary. Rustin is all dark and traditional. Not that he even knows what traditional means, only that he detests anything asymmetrical or angled.

How can this be? We've been together four years now. We like the same restaurants, the same TV shows. At parties, we borrow each other's witty lines. How could we have come this far without realizing our tastes are utterly at odds?

I'm having a vision. It's Rustin, with thinning hair, coming to visit me at my modern home with the hardwood floors and high ceilings above whitewashed walls. He lives in the backyard, in a gothic tree house painted black. He eats off army green stoneware. (That stuff chips like mad.)

Friends say I'm being silly: not agreeing about the bridal registry doesn't mean we're wrong for each other, it just means we're a normal couple. And it means I made the love-struck mistake of asking Rustin's opinion.

What makes Rustin angry is when I ask if he wants blue or green and then I pick the opposite.

"If you're not going to listen to me, don't ask," Rustin insists.

Tempting--but I just can't. We're registering because we're getting married. To each other. We should agree on the plates we'll be eating off of for the next 40 years.

But after numerous department store visits, it became apparent that would never happen. And with each viewing, I grew more convinced that the Calvin Klein Birch pattern with the lovely blue flower and trim had my--I mean our--name on it. I even tried saying I'd spend more time in the kitchen, so I should get the final vote. That worked for a friend, but proved transparent for me.

Ultimately, I resorted to feminine wiles. I'm not proud of it, but we were facing a life sentence of paper plates. Keep in mind, they do call it a bridal registry.

I told Rustin, super sweetly, that when it comes right down to it, I adore the Calvin Klein Birch much more than he hates it. In fact, Rustin could not get excited about any alternative.

"If we're deciding everything based on who cares most," Rustin told me, "then you win. You care more about everything,."

And let me tell you, it's not easy, either.

So I again insisted that Rustin take complete control of picking drinking glasses, which he argued were not as important as plates. I contended--sip for sip--that we drink much more often than we eat. He seemed semi-convinced. Rustin really liked a curvy, silver nut bowl, so we got that, too.

While he's busy eating peanuts out of his little dish, and drinking Coke from his ideally proportioned cups, I'm moving on to serving pieces.