Husband and I went to Brother-in-Law (BiL) and Future Sister-in-Law’s (FSiL) engagement extravaganza yesterday. We had a very nice time chatting up friends and family, overeating (OK, that was me, not Husband, who showed amazing restraint when faced with a buffet overflowing with super yummy breakfast foods, plus cookies, cake and ice cream), and engaging in hysterical laughter with Rebecca as we reminisced about the great moments in Borat (OK, also me, not Husband). Two things left a bad taste in my mouth when I woke up this morning, though.
The first was acid reflux and a horrid stomach ache, which I blame squarely on my in-laws for providing such an amazing amount of delicious food. Damn, I way overdid it, but how could I help it? The French toast was calling to me like Sirens to a ship in a storm. I dropped two torpedoes in the toilet last night, and nuclear payload this morning. Danger!
However, I am more or less used to this reaction to a party, so I am not too bothered by it. What is proving to be a stick in my craw is a disturbing conversation that Husband and I had with two other guests, a husband and wife. We were talking about my (hopefully) new career as a freelance writer, and so the topic of women changing their names when they get married arose. Felicia said that it wound up being a huge pain in the ass to change her name. Jack justified his insistence that she do so by repeatedly noting that 1. her former surname was “boring,” and 2. she didn’t need to carry on her family legacy because she had siblings who could do so. Jack’s father jumped in and said that Jack should just admit that he is a traditional person and that is why he asked Felicia to change her name. Jack refused to acknowledge this, instead reiterating that Felicia’s last name was too typical and that she had siblings; otherwise, he could understand if she wanted to keep her name. As it is, changing one’s name was “no big deal.”
Let me say right here that I can’t really object to anyone who wants to continue the tradition of the woman changing her name. I mean, I don’t like it, but whatever; it’s not my business. On the other hand, I am inclined to slap someone who rudely explains to strangers that his wife’s prior surname is “boring” and thus should just ditch it because it “is no big deal.” I clenched my fists under the starched white table cloth, put on my best fake smile, and cheerfully asked him why he didn’t change his name if it was so easy. I mean, seriously, if you’re not traditional or anything, you might as well... He laughed nervously. Another bumpy rash on a shaved twat, if there ever was one. Sigh. So it goes.