Broken by Design



After careful deliberation, nuanced introspection and prayer for guidance from numerous deities, I've decided I'm gonna marry the girl in the January 2010 Anthropologie cataolog. Now I'll admit, as far as plans go, this one's pretty raw—I can think of more than a couple significant roadblocks occluding the path to our inevitable union in holy matrimony—but my visions of our future together are so vivid that I can't help but feel encouraged as I embark on a quest that will most certainly hold my interest until well into tomorrow afternoon.

For starters, I've got our honeymoon planned out to the letter. We'll arrive in a nondescript Mediterranean town where we'll immediately set about wandering listlessly under stone arches, staring blankly at abandoned bicycles, clutching handbags as we meander up and down staircases and coldly examining the branches of fruitless trees until our eyes threaten to lose their focus entirely.

But I've got long-term plans as well. For instance, I frequently imagine the years we'll spend leaning slightly over second floor balconies with muted expressions and standing in front of open windows as our slack jaws and gazeless eyes invite the slow atrophy of our facial muscles. We'll pour black coffee when it's overcast, carry satchels of baguettes when it's cloudy and set the table with rustic flatware when it's grey outside.

As the years linger on, we'll loiter in front of towering double doors, crouch casually on stone steps, take our jackets off halfway in the shadows of flying buttresses and wait for busses that will never come as we ponder our own reflections in the dusty windows of long-since deserted bakeries.

Oh, and I probably don't want kids. I wonder if she'll be cool with that.






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