My husband and I are married not because I said, "I do," but because he said, "I'll do it."

Last year, when Jay got on one knee in Battery Park in Manhattan and proposed, I accepted and realized I was filled with joy—at the prospect of spending the rest of my life with him—then panic, associated with the idea of becoming a bride. 

We were eight years into our monogamous relationship, so I wasn't a commitment-phobe, but the thought of donning a big white dress and playing the lead role in a family-filled wedding drama inspired a tsunami of anxiety I couldn't quell. Read: Wedding Planning 101

So after saying yes, I said, "Let's elope!" trying to make it sound bright, shiny and enticing. To my frustration, his response was, "No way!"

I threw my hands in the air and issued my challenge: "Fine. You're planning this thing."

Part of my PR job revolved around arranging events, but a press conference is not a wedding. I'd seen friends plan elaborate affairs with hundreds of guests, and I knew it required diplomacy and stellar organizational skills—as well as passion for the project.  I possessed none of these prerequisites. Would I flunk the nuptials test?

Jay, a Jets-worshipping, Adidas-flip flop-wearing N.Y.C. firefighter, wasn't the most obvious candidate for the role of wedding planner either, but, mind-blowingly, he replied, "No problem" without hesitating. Watch: Why Do Men Get Married?

I wanted to grill him on his folly, but I recognized what was at play.  His father was from Pakistan, a culture that celebrated marriages with multi-day affairs involving everyone the couple and their families have ever met—from the neighbors up the street, to the corner vendor, to a fifth cousin twice removed. Though my future father-in-law had been in the U.S. for 40 years, he'd tried to bring a live elephant, a symbol of good luck, into one of his daughter's weddings at an exclusive Manhattan club. My parents, on the other hand, had gotten hitched in Rome, my mom in a yellow mini-dress, with one witness looking on. We'd come from distinctly different matrimonial traditions.

As the only child born to two only children, I'm a member of a neat, little family tree with few branches. Jay, on the other hand, is one of five. His tree is massive and has a huge root system.

I feared our families would meet and spontaneously combust. In eight years we hadn't introduced them, imagining that our mothers, two strong-willed Alpha females, would battle for supremacy. My mother, a Fox News fanatic, was a convention-flouting ex-Rockette. His, a Democrat, was a committed Catholic with an entrepreneurial streak. My mom was opposed to a wedding, calling it "a silly indulgence," while his felt the planet would stop spinning if I didn't get the perfect Vera Wang gown.