Pre-emptive Rant

There are so very many differences between the boy and I, mostly the odious Mars vs. Venus issues.
We still haven't heard anything about the Boy's visa, what with the 'another extension of receipt date' press releases from the USCIS.
We are fairly certain that he's not getting it. But he just might, right?
And this, by connotation, means we are still uncertain about the whole 'affording the marriage' issue.

My whole melodrama of the wedding has been well vented out to
the boy, & the world (online and not) .
The boy's side largely goes undocumented,
hence an illustration (with reiteration of my side)


I admit this whole rant is pre-emptive for the boy and I are slated to meet over the Memorial Day weekend to discuss all of above.
Which brings me to:

WHY???

Why do we need discussions and budget metings and all of the associated rubbish?
Why isn't getting married an easier, simpler series of stresless ordered events?

I mean, you go through your adolescence and most of your youth getting your bleeding heart
broken,
trampled on,
misused,
& ignored
by series of heartless creeps & geeks & morons (who I am beginning to find out all grow to be paunchy/bald/ugly old men - thank you God!)

So when you finally meet the decent, compatible, loving somebody, the pain & angst was supposed to end.
Love was supposed to sweep away pebbles of care & crap from miles-to-travel road.

right?

Prince Charming (incredibly gorgeous, understandingly caring, and loving though he is) is not supposed to analyse and clinically de-romanticise your wedding with budgets & projections.

We are supposed to impulsive chop wood and prepare tiny fire in middle of living room and do the 7 circles-denoting-eternity around fire thing (thanks for that lovely expectation of love, bollywood.
note to self: emmenthal, zygote and ergot not allowed to watch Hindi love films)

The boy wants logical, analytical discussion of marriage.
I can do that.
But after about 30 minutes of oft-repeated-but-never-concluded-because-of-annoying-visa-discussion,
I feel a slight Charlotte York hysteria bubbling in me and then a black out & a voice screaming from inside me:

"CHOP THE WOOD, boy, Just Chop The Bloody Wood!!!"

Silence and The boy sighing
"Not a question of chopping, its a question of affording axe and making sure you can live comfortably after."

My logical side knows boy to be right but emotional, years of maudlin love story watching side wants it otherwise.