Marrying Up

Obligation is the sole reason to play a game that you know you will lose. While spend- ing my first Christmas at my new boyfriend's mom's house, the smarty pants college edu- cator got out her favorite game, Scrabble. His entire family is good at it. I explained to the family that I never really played before. "What do you usually do for Christmas, Cammi?" the brother asked me, shocked.

"Oh!" I answered, "Usually, after opening gifts, me, my sisters and all the kids sit around the room and make fun of whoever is fattest." It's a family favorite and also very competitive.

It was clear by the Scrabble scores that I wasn't like them. So clear that a longtime friend during drinks one night commented, "You married up. Huh?" At the time, I laughed; he knew all about me and my family; my dad worked in a factory, I was the first person to go to college, when we fight there's a lot of screaming and breaking shit. Sometimes the police show up. I learned how to play bocce and bet on horses. Later, after thinking about my friend's comment for a while, I became insulted and horrified-that's what people thought of me? Gold-digger? But, "gold-digger" only fits when there's gold to dig.

Meeting my husband, Warren, was the best thing that ever happened to my father. When I went to college my dad decided I should be a nurse because I could definitely get a job and those are the only jobs women get. In his defense, he was born in the early Thirties and there happen to be a million hospitals in Cleveland. He never took into account the fact that when I walked into a hospital I would automatically fill with dread and start uncontrollably crying because people "get sick." People in my family describe me as "sensitive." I decided to get a degree in art be- cause who wants money and being sensitive is an attribute. My dad, naturally, was terrified I would pregnantly drag home some degenerate artist that would lead to years of me moving in and out of the house, borrowing money from him-and possibly to a Lifetime movie. When I brought Warren home, I could see his inner monologue whistling the song "I'm In The Money." Warren had "potential earner" writ- ten all over him. To this day the first thing my dad says to me on the phone is "How's Warren doing?" Which, in translation means, "Who cares about you, is Warren making money?"

The last thing I fantasized about, as a girl, was my wedding day. I never thought about what my wedding dress would be like. I never thought about bridesmaids, party favors, chick- en or filet mignon. In retrospect, it probably would have helped if I had, because it took five years for my husband and me just to agree on a location. At 27, I never wanted to get married. I thought: married people are kidding themselves; monogamy is totally unreasonable; and everyone gets divorced. And even after being married for sixteen years, I still think that. In fact, I'm pretty sure that denial of being married is how we've managed to stay married. We don't wear wedding rings.

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