I can't believe it's 2008 and I'll be getting married this year. Just the word makes me feel old and shriveled. I associate "married" with car pools, mom jeans and Friday night suburban Bunko tournaments (which, truth be told, are surprisingly a lot of fun).

But a word that I couldn't get enough of this past month o' holidays is "fianceé."

I always look forward to Fred's annual work Christmas party. It's an excuse to buy an outrageously expensive dress ("I want to impress your co-workers, honey"), nosh on delicious food, and dance cheek-to-cheek with Fred (instead of our usual booty to crotch moves that we reserve for clubbing). This year I was looking forward to it for a different
reason– he had to introduce me as his "fiancée."

Introductions can always be a bit anxious-making— do you hug? Kiss on the cheek? Just shake hands? But this year I eagerly sought out faces I didn't know in the crowd and tapped Fred on the arm. "Honey, I don't think I've met that couple over there…"

Every time the French word rolled off his tongue I grinned from ear to ear. Yes, I realize this makes me about as cool as someone who wears mom jeans, but I couldn't help it. Each introduction was a declaration of our engagement—Fred was telling the person I was meeting that he had chosen to spend the rest of his life with me. And that makes me
gooey.

It was also the first year that I spent the holidays with his family. They were warm and loving, but it was definitely hard to be away from my parents for the first time on Christmas. But I guess that's what marriage is all about. Well, that and Bunko.