Unholy Matrimony

The extensive interview process concluded the Tuesday after my 32nd birthday.  I applied for “Match Made in Mineville” because I’ve had some horrible experiences dating.  I had some reservations about being on a reality t.v. show, but Margot hit the “submit” button on the application that time we were drunk off of tequila shots and margaritas after a break up.  I panicked at first, but then I thought about it and figured I’d never get chosen.  Three weeks later I got the call that I had been selected as one of 300 finalists!  The initial application asked for a picture, some demographic information, a 200 word statement stating why you were interested in applying, and 36 open-ended questions.  How I managed to write so many truthful and coherent sentences while under the influence I’ll never know.  I’ll just chalk it up to my undergrad at a state school.  I think there was a mandatory minor in functional alcoholism...at least there seemed to be for my group of friends.  The rest of the process was in person.  I’d sit with five different professionals with specialties such as “family counseling” and then they’d consult with each other and eventually choose ten individuals - five couples - to match.

If I passed the rest of the interviews the professionals involved would match me with the man I’d marry!  It was a little nerve-wracking to think I wouldn’t be seeing him before our wedding day, but that’s how the show works.  If I got matched, the first time I would see my husband would be when walking down the aisle.  We would get to speak to each other before the ceremony, but there would be a partition between us so neither of us could see the other.  We also would get some sort of card or file with the person’s preferences on it to reference while we’re planning the wedding.  No real names though.  The professionals are smart and realized the first thing we millennials do is look each other up on social media.  Luckily, they did ask for a list of the first and last names of anyone you’ve dated so as not to inadvertently match you with Dan the Douchebag from 2015 or Gary the Ghost of Bumble Past.    

The in-person interviews and assessments were as tedious as the SATs.  They asked a whole host and a half of questions.  I wasn’t sure what to say for most of them.  I just kept thinking that usually when I’m discussing such intimate things there are a few drinks involved.  They even asked if I had an ideal age in mind for my life partner.  When I stared blankly in response to that one a second question was posed, “are you opposed to dating someone who is ten or more years older than you?”  When I answered, it depends, is he rich?”  the professional in front of me didn’t seem so amused.  I had to quickly backtrack and come up with some flowery prose about how “age is just a number” and “love knows no age limit.”  I felt more than a bit drained at the end of it all.

Dr. Jen showed up at my workplace exactly a week after the interviews concluded.  She actually woke me up - I had fallen asleep in my cubicle.  In my defense, it was a slow day.  She looked a little concerned as I stared at her through bleary eyes, but she shook it off soon enough.  

“Madison,” she said in a stern voice, “we have found you a match!”  I rubbed my eyes again and stared at her.  It took me a moment to process what she said and then it hit me - I was matched!  I jumped up and hugged her.  She patted me on the back and gave me some instructions.  

The next day I met with the four other women who got matched.  The show recruited by location so we all lived in the same city.  It was a bit strange going wedding dress shopping with strangers and a camera crew, but Margot came too so I got over it.

“So, will your fathers be walking you down the aisle?”  one of the producers asked.  The other women and I exchanged looks.

“Of course!”  a petite blonde piped up.  “Aren’t all of yours?”  She looked expectantly at the rest of us.  

“Nope,” I said.  “Never met my dad.  My mom got pregnant early on in college.  I don’t think he even knows I exist.”  The petite blonde stared at me.  Her eyes were rapidly filling with tears.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Margot roll her eyes.

“It’s really okay...I’m a big girl.  I can walk down the aisle myself,” I added with a shrug.  

“But, tradition!”  the blonde protested.  One of the salesgirls hurried out with more dress options in an attempt to change the mood.  It worked because blondie perked right up and started jumping up and down.

The wedding dress was one of the only decisions we really had to make for the wedding.  The network planned pretty much everything else.  As I got ready the day of the wedding I noticed the camera focusing in on all the labels around.  The makeup artist also talked the entire time about what products she used.  

Once I was fully dressed and made up reality t.v. style, an escort took me to another room.  A large folding partition stood along the center of the room and a single chair sat parallel.  The camera crew focused on the chair.  The empty chair.  I heard some footsteps on the other side of the partition and then caught a glimpse of shiny black shoes and the bottoms of tuxedo pants.  My groom.  I sat down excitedly.

“Hello beautiful,” he began.  I rolled my eyes at how corny he was being but smiled at the same time.  It felt good to hear those words.  

“Hi,” I offered.  “Hi - not long now.” I could’ve smacked myself with how stupid I sounded.  I heard him chuckle.  

The producers declared our five minutes over in what felt like a heartbeat.  I felt both more nervous and more excited at once.  This was real.  I was getting married on a reality t.v. show.  To a stranger.  I floated along the second floor of the old house serving as my headquarters.  He sounded nice.  He sounded handsome.  Is that even a thing?  I thought to myself.  I headed to a bedroom at the back of the house.  This one had a small balcony where I could look out over the lawn where the chairs and other things for the ceremony were set up.  It would be too far to get a good glimpse of my groom, but it would be something.  I pushed the door open.

The sight before me confused and disturbed me.  My mom wasn’t dating anyone and yet, here she was, with a strange man’s tongue in her mouth.  A man whose tuxedo pants and spit-shined black shoes looked a little familiar.  So familiar, in fact, I was sure I had seen them recently...like under the partition that separated me from my soon to be groom.

I didn’t want to remain there, but I wanted answers.  They seemed oblivious to my presence.  If they kept going my mom was going to need a major hair and makeup touch up.  I coughed in an attempt to get their attention.  It didn’t work.  I coughed louder.  Neither seemed to hear.  I picked up the vase on an end table by the door and hurled it to the floor.  A thousand ceramic pieces flew across the floor on impact.

“Madison?”  My mom said.  She had pulled away and was adjusting her clothing.  “We need to talk.”

“Obviously,” I responded.  “The ceremony is supposed to start in 20 minutes.  And you,”  I turned to the man, “are supposed to be marrying me.”

His face burned bright red and he stared at the floor.

“Madison,” my mom said again.  I glared at her.  “This is Damian.”

“Cool,” I said.  “Glad you at least exchanged names before swapping spit.”

“No, no, honey,” my mom continued.  “You aren’t understanding.  I know him.”

“Clearly.”  I rolled my eyes.

“Damian is your father.”  I gave my mom a look.  Did she really expect me to believe this?  My mom came over and led me to a chair for the whole story.   

Needless to say, I did not get married.  The network felt so horribly (they were worried I’d trash them online) that they sent me on the “honeymoon” trip anyway.  They even changed my suite so I would be farther away from the other couples.  I was feeling a little down about the whole thing about halfway through the trip when I saw the petite blonde dancing around in the waves in a skimpy bikini.  I didn’t seek out any of them, but the resort was only so big.  The camera crew was still there to document the first few days of couplehood for blondie and her man.  As I watched from a distance a huge wave came and knocked her over.  I laughed a little to myself.  I couldn’t help it.  The best part, though, was when blondie stood up and her bikini bottoms were nowhere to be found.  There she was, half naked for all to see.  On camera.  I doubted that scene would make the cut, but we’ll see when the show airs.