Like forever ago, Chris Austria of Wat da Wat tagged me for a 3 Things About Me meme.
I don’t do many posts like this at SHE-POWER, but because it’s Chris and I worship at the altar of his unfailing wisdom and humor… and because I’ve got ADD with no hope of writing a ‘proper’ article days out from the Spain trip, I’m going to let you in on a few fascinating Kelly facts.
1. I HATE runny, yolky eggs
Yes, stop the press, this is big news. I love to eat eggs, but they must be scrambled or flipped and beaten until they are DEAD DEAD DEAD.
I am not over exaggerating here. If I order eggs at a cafe and they do not get what I mean by “rock hard” then I send them back. I cannot abide soft, mushy yolks. Not only do I hate the texture and taste of loose or runny eggs, the sight alone is enough to make me gag. Aghh, I’ve actually got the shivers just thinking about it.
2. I am fanatically feminist about women keeping their maiden name after marriage
I know some of my friends who read this blog are groaning right now because they’ve heard the rants. The ones that go on and on because I absolutely do not get why the majority of women in this day and age still change their names when they get married. WHY??!!
Obviously this means that Kelly Rigby is my maiden name. My son and husband have a different one, and mostly that is okay with MusicMan.
Did he want me to change my name? In an ideal world I guess he thought it would be nice, but it never really bothered him and he’s never expected I would change my mind.
The only concession MusicMan did ask for was that any children we had should carry his name. I was fine with this since I understood it was as important for him to carry on his dead father’s name as it was for me not to change mine.
It’s not as if I freak out if someone calls me Mrs MusicMan. I don’t. My grandmother has refused to acknowledge I still use Rigby. I’ve told her often enough not to use my husband’s name, but it just doesn’t make sense to her so she ignores it. I am sure she isn’t intentionally trying to make a point; the whole idea is just outside her reality and that’s okay. She’s my Nanna and I love her so she can call me Gertrude if it makes her happy.
I am also proud to be Musicman’s wife and partner, so if people get it wrong socially, or I end up Mrs MusicMan to my son’s friends for the next 15 years, then so be it.
None of this changes the fact that I felt it was important to keep my own name when I married. For me it was a deal breaker. I would never have married if my husband had insisted I adopt his name.
This could be called a case of personal preference and I get that. Most of my friends have changed their names and one has even done it for two husbands. The thing that really baffles me is why I am still an absolute minority in a country where so many relationship norms and traditions have changed, but this has not.
Why do women still change their names when they marry, and why are so many men offended and outraged when a woman does not want to?
Marriage used to be about ownership. A man bought himself a wife with a dowry so of course she adopted his name. This should not be relevant in the western world today, so why do people still do it, and why do woman think it’s romantic?
I would really love someone to explain this to me because I truly don’t get it. Everyone talks to me about tradition and how changing a name isn’t important. But, we have given up plenty of other traditions (I have only ever been to one wedding that used the word OBEY) and your name should be important.
Giving up a part of your identity, the name you may have been known by for over 30 years is a big deal. What did he give up to marry you?
3. The police were called to my wedding reception and I got so drunk that I was still hung over 2 days later
See, I am all class. Well, in a class of my own anyway. What other bride mixes champagne, tequila, red and white wine on her wedding day?
Maybe I’ll sound less of an alcoholic if I say this was almost 10 years ago and prior to the big day my husband and I agreed we wanted a HUGE PARTY for our wedding. We figured that we had been living in sin for two years anyway and knew each others’ best sexual moves so what was the big deal about a wedding night?
We had the reception in the style of a cocktail party in a marquee at my father’s property. The idea was that it’s private, personal and a beautiful setting for a wedding. We even had medieval torches lighting the bridge that crosses the gully between the house and where the marquee was. It was incredibly romantic, particularly since our grand entrance was to the sound of a Latin guitarist.
Dad’s property also seemed like a good idea because we wouldn’t get kicked out at 11pm like you do with a standard reception venue. We had people traveling from far and wide and a great live band and we wanted to celebrate our new life together with style.
This ‘style’ is what brought the police.
Dad’s place is on a higher rise at the foot of a mountain and the land around it dips down into a creek and then rises again on the other side. Apparently someone on the other side didn’t appreciate the way our rocking band’s tunes carried across the creek and into their delicate sleeping eardrums at 1am. They called the police, who warned us once, and then when we took too long with the encore, came and shut us down.
Not that this stopped the party.
My husband was just as disgraceful on our wedding night. I couldn’t find him when the police left, so I searched high and low and sure enough, he was passed out in his tuxedo amongst the rose petals my sisters had thoughtfully placed all around our bedroom suite. I was still having a great time so I dragged him under the covers, shrugged off my wedding dress, slipped on some jeans, checked my tiara was still in place and went back to the party to do more tequila shots.
Four hours later, with my last few friends crawling onto lounges and chairs to sleep, I went to bed a fading, swaying bride. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done.
I was sick as a dog and couldn’t move until the middle of the next afternoon, when my mother dragged my sorry ass out of bed to go down and open up some presents before my family traveled back to Melbourne. I can barely remember this, and only have the vaguest recollection of later that afternoon when my new husband put me in the car and drove me down the coast for our romantic honeymoon. The one where I was ill and woozy for another 2 days. Girls and boys, don’t try this at home…
So there’s 3 fascinating facts about me. I’m a fussy egg eating, feminist ranting, drunk.
By the way, this photo is me and my brother getting messy with tequila shots at my wedding reception. I considered showing the one with me dancing in jeans and a tiara with a bottle of wine in my hand but that just seemed way too embarrassing, even for me