Flanked by your groomsmen and surrounded by beaming family and friends, you look down the aisle and see her – the dream girl.
Everyone gasps as she begins walking towards you. A beam of light from the glass roof hits her at the perfect moment and she lights up the whole room – just like she’s been doing since you met her.
She’s wearing a flowing white dress, has a nervous tear rolling down her cheek and may or may not have gone overboard on the fake tan for her big day.
She’s arm-in-arm with her proud father – the angry, scary man you nervously asked for permission 16 months earlier.
As she reaches the altar and looks you in the eye, all of life’s little worries disappear.
She is still that fun, beautiful girl you met four years earlier while arguing about football on the train. This is the girl you’ve never had a dull moment with, the girl who inspires you, the girl who makes every conversation interesting, the girl everyone wants to be around.
And, for some unknown, idiotic, crazy, ridiculous reason, she wants to be with you - even after the whole forgotten birthday debacle of 2009, even after meeting your family, even after seeing you dance while sober.
You would do anything for this girl. You’d quit smoking, you’d give away your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle collectable toys – you’d even sit through an entire episode of The View.
You can’t hear the priest talk as you look into her eyes.
Apart from Collingwood winning the flag and that day you found $100 in your jeans, this is the best moment of your life.
Nothing will ever tear you apart – this is the girl you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. The girl you’re going to start a family with. You’re happy. You’re certain.
Then… you wake up.
Five years has gone by and you’re living in a unit alone. There’s nothing in your fridge but expired milk and your car keys. Your dream girl or,‘she who shall not be named’, got the house, the car, the dog and your dignity.
Things turned ugly after you promised you would stay friends, but you did manage to keep your collection of basketball cards and Scrubs DVDs.
You still sit down every day and ask yourself – what the hell happened?
This is the tale of the unlucky 50-odd% of people who tie the knot in the modern age.
As a single, immature man looking in, it’s very easy for me to sit back and judge... so, I will.
We live in an age where we are taught to avoid long-term commitments and contracts like the plague. Phone contracts, personal loans, mortgages - as a community, we've woken up to how evil these things are. I think that realisation has subconsciously affected how people are looking at marriage.
Don’t like where your commitment is heading? It's never too late to cut the cord and find a better deal right?
Reading some football news last week had me thinking: Would performance-based contracts used in the sporting world work in a marriage?
“For better or worse, in sickness or health, till the summer of 2017 when we’ve agreed to sit down and re-evaluate where we are as people.”
Could the short-term marriage contract re-ignite passion and lower divorce numbers? Struggling couples get a taste of marriage and can peacefully part ways and test the free agent market. Couples still going strong get an extension and ‘bonuses’ in their next deal.
I can already imagine hiring a wedding agent to broker your new deal.
"Listen, she's really close to signing on the dotted line, but we need you to include soiled nappies to the list of new chores for 2013."
It’s not just marriages that could be improved with this system. Imagine what it could do to parenthood.
“Timmy, your mother and I are not satisfied with how you are gelling with the rest of the family. We warned you about the clothes on your floor and stealing cookies from the pantry. I’m sorry son, but we’ve decided to go in another direction. Go pack your things.”
We could be on to something here.
Personally, I still believe in the ‘till death do us part’ bit.
50 years down the road, I want to be sitting on a park bench with my wife, discussing my last reverse parking job, not caring about the noises my body makes. I really do.
I bet that when I’m there with this theoretical wife, she’ll be sitting down, watching me yell at young park hooligans, wishing she signed that 5-year deal.
