Wedding phobia

"But it's the happiest day of your life," she pleaded.

"I have better days at least three times a week," I said.

I think that was the beginning of the end. Shame, as it also came quite close to the beginning of the beginning. But I had to be honest. I couldn't lie to her.

Actually that's a lie. I could and I did. But only to get me out of situations in which I looked like a feckless flake, incapable of meaningful emotion and sincerity. Which, of course, I am.

But, no, I've never bought the 'best day of your life' thing. Christ, if the best day of my life were spent at a wedding I'd end it now. My best day is not going to involve months of arrangements, other people's parents or a massive bill. Nor a commitment to a lifetime of days not quite as good as my wedding day.

One of my reasons for shying away from commitment to one woman is that I just don't know what she, or I, will be like in 20 years. What if she becomes stuck in 2008 and fails to embrace new ideas, music or cocktails? People do, you know. Then they move to 'the country', whatever that is.

I don't like to call it commitment phobia. I prefer to think of it as downright cowardice. I'm afraid to commit to you, because I don't know you enough and I know me too well. I'm afraid if I commit to you, I'll meet someone even hotter tomorrow. Then what am I supposed to do?

I tend to find last minute excuses for the first step to commitment - meeting the family. The trouble is, I resent spending time doing anything that isn't fun. I don't want to meet the previous generation of you, or the generation before that. I want to meet people my own age or younger. Preferably with high voices and make up.

And I don't want to be asked what my intentions are for someone's daughter either. They are invariably filthy.

Other than that I'm perfect marriage material.

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