This week I have been congratulating myself on getting through yet another wedding season without blubbering into my cake about the sorry state of my love life or succumbing to a night of ‘passion’ with the sleazy middle-aged usher that even thrice divorced Aunt Mavis rejected. When questioned about my thoughts and plans for nuptials and children I have been proud to turn my nose up at all that jazz and make a thing of concentrating on my career and snubbing the idea of spending all that money on just one day, like the liberated, privileged twenty-first century woman that I am; my real achievements, I (occasionally waveringly) assert, lie in the field of work. After all, anyone can just meet a guy and get married, right (cue wobbly-mouthed smiley)? But to pass the mileposts in my professional life, as the first woman in my family who has had such unparalleled choices and opportunities? Now that’s success and progression. Right…?
An article in London's Evening Standard on July 7th attacked the summer flick ‘Bridesmaids’ for conveying the message that getting wed should be viewed as the greatest achievement in a woman’s life. Hear hear! I cried, pleased to be able to arm myself with support to carry on with my ball-busting career journey (as well as to avoid facing up to a few home truths). But when I conferred with my friend (a first-class Oxbridge Phd student working on a cure for cancer) her response was somewhat different to the fervent agreement I had envisioned. ‘Well yes, I think that getting married probably would be one of my biggest achievements. I mean, I know I can clone cells and find a cure for cancer (ok, maybe she didn’t quite go that far…), but finding a man I like enough to spend the rest of my life with? And to have that reciprocated?’ Well that really would be impressive!’ Hmm. I was actually hoping for a bit more support there…
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