Arranged Marriages = Eternal Gratitude… Eventually

What kind of a world would it be if small children didn’t have epic kiss-me-before-you-get-on-the-train scenes? A BETTER world – that’s what kind.

You know those posters of small children dressed up like adults and making out?  Yeah, they’re adorable, right? WRONG. They creep me out. Also, they make me insanely jealous. How is it that a 4 year old can have more romance in their life than I do? Oh, that’s right – it’s because I HAVE a 4 year-old. And possibly because I’m the least romantic person of all time ever… true story. But this really isn’t the point: the point is (kind of) that I saw one of these posters, and after I got past my initial shudder, I started thinking about my kids kissing some other kid. And then I started thinking about them dating other quasi-kids. And then I started thinking about them marrying other humans … I’m pretty sure the progression of thought was natural, even if the catalyst of the thought was less so. Again, not the point. The point of this post is to simply inform everyone that I have decided to arrange my children’s marriages. The end.

(Not really the end).

I know – it seems controlling, possibly petty, and downright un-American for me to select spouses for my kids. But with a divorce rate running right around 50%, I feel like there might be more of a market for them than people are willing to admit. Surely I can’t be the only one whose parents are getting smarter as I’m getting older, right? I’m banking on my kids experiencing the same phenomenon, and when they do, oh that glorious day, I’m sure they’ll thank me for my excellent discernment when it came to selecting  the person they’ll be spending the rest of their life with.

No, I’m being totally serious. I look around the playgrounds and in their classrooms sometimes, and I’m terrified for my kids’ futures. Some of those children they’re surrounded by are total reprobates and the chances of them out-growing their reprobate-tendencies before they fall in love with my beloved son and daughter are slim to none. The way I see it is, if I don’t intervene on their behalf, their options are going to look like this:

For Judah:

My first born. My boy-genius. He’s articulate and witty and hilarious and he’ll probably be a millionaire before it’s all over. When I look at the girls in his classroom, I see them growing up to be:

The Diva: She probably spends more time getting ready to leave the house in one morning than I do in a week.

a)      The Diva: You know the type I’m talking about. If there’s a mirror, a window, a piece of silverware, or anything else they can catch their reflection in The Diva is the one using their soup spoon to make sure they look fabulous at all times. Typically a diva is easy to spot because she’s the one that is wearing coordinating sweaters with her idiotic little dog that she’s stuffed into her $7,000 purse so that she doesn’t have to walk to the mailbox alone.

b)      One of The Guys: This is a tough one – it’s not that I have a problem

One of the Guys: She loves hanging out with your friends because she’s sleeping with all of them… Just a guess.

with chicks being able to hang with dudes and relate to them because she knows how to climb a tree, throw a ball, and could care less where they bought their jeans. However, when the girl that’s “just one of the guys” ends up making her rounds with all of the guys, it concerns me. And let’s be honest, we’ve all seen it happen.


c)       The Beauty Queen: At first glance, she looks great. Long, lean, and gorgeous. She can make a $20 outfit look like a million bucks, she can run a mile in 6” stiletto heels, and when it comes to bathing suit season, she makes the inferior beings around her cry and hide their love-handles. All in all, there are worse resumes for bride-of-my-son. However, my kid is already smarter than most people I come into contact with on a daily basis, and I feel like I’d he’d probably get tired of the “Oh-my-god-someone-just-put-a-sparkly-crown-on-my-head” face every time he said something even remotely interesting. And let’s be honest, gravity makes flabby fools of us all at some point, (even you, Miss America) so I’m going to need something more than a pretty face to convince me you’re the one for my son.

Trouble: Run, Judah. For the love of God, just run.

d)      Trouble: She drinks. She swears. She has tattoos. And she doesn’t give a rip what you, or anyone else for that matter, happen to think about it. Need I say more?

After eliminating the above options, along with a few others, I have decided upon the perfect wife for Judah. She’s the quintessential All-American-Girl-Next-Door. She can be sweet when she wants to, and when she doesn’t want to, she can raise some hell. Tough, gorgeous, and stubborn enough to keep my boy in line when he needs to be, they’re a match made in heaven my head, but I’m sure they’ll appreciate it one day. Judah, you are welcome. Hannah, be kind, (but not too kind) to my boy.

Here’s Hannah and Judah now…

And this is what I anticipate Hannah looking like in about 15 years. (Good luck Matt).

And then there’s Nora. There is no shortage of men that just aren’t anywhere near good enough for my baby.

The Pretty Boy: Being able to share make-up tips with my daughter isn’t going to get your far.

a)      The Pretty Boy: My daughter is all that is beautiful in this world, and if you’re a man that’s trying to out-do that, you/we have some serious issues. Also, if it looks like Nora could beat you up, she probably will, and that’s just not a healthy foundation for a life-long relationship.

The Tough Guy: Essentially, this is me in buff man form with a little extra ink … it’s not a good thing guys.

b)      The Tough Guy: I have no problem with your bulging arm muscles, your barb-wire arm tat, or your swanky motorcycle. What I do have a problem with is the idea of you coming within 50 ft of my baby girl. It’s nothing personal, per se… no, you’re right. It’s personal. Stay away from her.

The Musician/Movie Star: Elliott Garfield, if you weren’t a fictional character in one of my favorite movies, and also if you weren’t really unfortunate looking, I might consider you as a candidate… C’est la vie

c)       The Musician/Movie Star: Oh, I know all about you musicians and your lyrical trickery. I married one of those myself. And everything I need to know about actors I learned in The Goodbye Girl… and unless you’re Richard Dreyfuss, you’ll end up breaking my little girl’s heart and then I’ll have to kill you. So there’s that.

The Sleazy Salesman of Whatever It Is You Sell: Negative Ghostrider.

d)      The Sleazy Salesman of Whatever It Is You Sell: If your favorite phrase is “Let’s make a deal”, if your go-to stance is the double thumbs up, pointer fingers extended tongue click, and/or if you refuse to button your shirt any higher than your navel, the answer is no. And no, I don’t want to see if we can negotiate.

The moment I learned I was going to have a little girl, I started panicking about the creeps that would inevitably be showing up at my door, trying to pull the wool over my eyes and sweep Nora off her feet. The good news is that I have a gun and am perfectly willing to shoot anything that looks like wool approaching my face, Nora is going to end up being about 6’ tall so sweeping her off of her feet will not be an easy task in the literal or proverbial sense, and I have full confidence that the young man I have selected for her will grow up into a wonderful man. I mean, his parents are pretty great, so biologically he’s at a serious advantage. I’ve also known him since he was in the womb, and I don’t think you can vet somebody’s background any better than that. Silas and Nora have spent quite a bit of time together in their (almost) 2 years of life, and so far-so good. I’m taking that as a sign that they will be blissfully happy as they spend the rest of their lives together.

If I were 25 years younger, I’d totally marry this kid.

There are currently 6,973,738,431 reasons to choose a spouse on your child’s behalf. And there’s another one born every minute. Do it now, before it’s too late.


Filed under Endearing Monsters, Ineptitude, Life and Times