A few weeks ago in psychology, we learned about Holmes and Rahe’s “Social Adjustment Rating Scale.” I was amazed to realize that something which should be as pleasant and memorable as a wedding would rate just above being “fired at work,” and just below “personal injury or illness” on their 1 through 100 Stress scale. It even rates above reconciling with a spouse! Whoa!

Take a look at this:

To help me to grasp this important lesson, I tried to apply it to my own life and experiences. Weddings … hmmm … weddings are followed by honeymoons … ahh yes. Now there’s a real source of stress for you …

The first honeymoon was a weekend to forget. Cold, dreary … it rained the entire time. The trees were still devoid of any buds, and the air was leaden and gray. I tried to remember why, of all the places in the world I could have chosen, I had decided to come to Portland, Maine.

Back in the “Honeymoon Suite” of the fanciest hotel in town, a blonde, blue-eyed farmer was snoring loudly, his head, butt and feet parked squarely on the frame of the waterbed. Just before Morpheus carried him off, he’d complained that the sloshing of the water tended to make his stomach slosh in sympathetic response. No, he wasn’t hungry. No, he didn’t want to go out for supper. No … he especially didn’t want to do … that. Not on this waterbed. So much for those things you expect to enjoy on your wedding night.

My mood matching the bleak weather, and my stomach working furiously on my backbone, I set out on a lonely search for food. I didn’t want to march into a fancy place and find a booth all by myself; there’s something about going out to eat in a nice restaurant – alone. Somehow, it sets you apart as a social anomaly. That was one thing I wanted to avoid becoming on the first day of my honeymoon.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I found a nice, dark little pizza shack. I walked in with relief, grateful to escape the irritating drizzle. I felt a little cautious when I realized it was a bar, but the tangy aroma of hot, spicy pizza gave my feet a life of their own; I vanquished my fear and closed the door firmly, shutting out the weather.

At the counter, the rumbling of my stomach alerted the bartender that he had a new customer. I ordered a large, extra heavy cheese, loaded with pepperoni, and then settled down on a bar stool for what I expected would be a long wait. As I enjoyed the dry warmth, I tried to ignore the tantrum my stomach began to pitch.

It took me by complete surprise when, from the shadows, I heard a gravelly voice utter that lame line every woman alive dreads, “What’s a girl like you doing in a dive like this?” Oh – my – God! Could things get any worse? I determined at that moment that there would be a second honeymoon … and it would make up for the first one – in spades!

Somehow, our marriage survived our wedding night: my husband’s waterbed induced motion sickness, my late night jaunt into the cold dampness, and being “hit on” by some stranger in a bar. However, after such an inauspicious start, I was going to plan that second honeymoon a lot more carefully.

Two kids and several years later, we checked into a nice Ramada Inn in Orlando, Florida. Finally! The honeymoon I’ve always wanted! It was warm, sunny … and I felt every bit as cheerful as the weather.

No kids! No ringing phones! No housework! No ringing phones! No grocery shopping! And did I forget to say –- no ringing phones?

As our wonderful first day began to darken into a warm summer evening, we made our way back to the motel after having enjoyed a scrumptious dinner. We had a quaint little room on the first floor, facing the courtyard; there was a huge swimming pool, which I had every intention of enjoying the next day. I was prepared to have the time of my life for a full, glorious week! Disney World! Sea World! Busch Gardens! Fancy restaurants! Oh the joys that awaited me!

Let’s not forget that other joy – the one which I was denied on my first honeymoon because of a motion sick groom. This time around, nothing would get in my way!

Once in the privacy of our little love nest, a feeling of absolute glee washed over me as I pulled the curtains closed. Forgetting all of the kids at home, all of the worries, cares and ringing phones, I began to do my best to entertain my dear husband, and set the mood for an evening that would certainly make up for our wedding night. Layer by layer, I peeled off my clothing, right down to … well, you get the idea.

Then, unable to contain my elation any further, confident that only my husband’s loving eyes were able to observe my bizarre behavior, my exhilaration spilled over. I began to prance about the room … hopping onto one bed, down between the two beds, up onto the next bed … and back around the room again, exuberating as I went: “Wheeee! No kids! No phones! Wheeee!”

This show of sheer jubilation was finally terminated when my dear husband snared me, and led me to our little bed. It was a bit rumpled from my little dance, but it was about to be far, far more mussed up …

Just when things were really beginning to get “interesting,” to my utmost horror, the phone rang. I lay there in disbelief, stunned too deeply to react, as I realized that I was in a motel in Orlando, Florida … no one at home had any idea where we had ended up … and my phone – was – ringing! Ugh! How on earth had people found us so quickly?

Resigned, my mood shattered, I answered the phone; I was ready to annihilate whoever was on the other end. A man’s voice, heavy with a southern drawl, greeted me.

“Ma’am? Is this the couple in room 123?”

That set me back a bit. How did he know someone else was in here with me?

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Ma’am, this is the security guard, Ma’am.” Then there was a long awkward pause. Finally, sounding a bit flustered, he asked, “Could ah please speak with the gentleman there please, Ma’am?”

Even more confused, I handed the phone to my husband. He listened silently for a moment. I saw a deep red flush creep up his neck and settle on his cheeks.

Being a man of few words, all he said was, “Thank you.” I watched in growing consternation as he leaned over me and put the phone back into its cradle. Then without another sound, he got up, walked over to the window, and began to pull on a cord.

To my great distress, I saw a second set of curtains begin to draw together behind the set I had shut only a short while ago. I watched in horrified fascination as the edges finally came together.

Realization slowly dawned: the curtains I’d closed earlier were sheer, but the darkened courtyard just beyond the window made it seem as if they were opaque. In my eagerness, I’d completely missed the second set of curtain cords. Everything, the entire little dance … the ensuing, well, you know … were all done for the wondering eyes of everyone who happened to be walking by our window!

Once I recovered my emotional equilibrium, all thought of any romantic interludes completely banished for the night, I watched my husband with baleful eyes as he read the local paper. The cheery thoughts of just a few hours ago were gone, replaced by an embarrassment so deep that I thought I would never recover.

My doleful imaginings were interrupted when my husband pointed to an ad in the paper.

“Hey look! That’s the Ramada Inn we’re staying in!”

“Harumph.”

“It says they have live entertainment nightly. You know what? I’m sure they have different shows every night.”

I frowned at him, “How do you know that?”

He replied tartly, “Because we won’t be here tomorrow night!”

I’m not planning a third honeymoon. I don’t think I can take the stress …

Posted: Saturday, May 20th, 2006 at 7:10 pm under: Snickers. Comment Feed (RSS 2.0). Interact: Comment or Trackback.