We Get It. You’re Engaged.

We Get It. You’re Engaged.

The sun is out, the snow is melting, and on campus that means one thing: it’s proposal season. If you’re not trying to get a ring by spring, you’re definitely gaming your relationship incorrectly. Never mind that you don’t know your boyfriend’s long-term earning potential yet and if you just waited 18 more months you’d get a couple more carats. No no, getting engaged now is ideal – no, necessary – because otherwise, how would everyone else know that you’re better than they are? Sure, Sarah got into five law schools, but did she inherit a lawyer’s wife’s salary with no more effort than occasionally putting out? I think not.

Getting engaged is definitely something to be proud of. I get it. I’ve been working on this ever since I started smashing Barbie and Ken’s faces together in their pink dream house. But take it from me, your fascination with your new engagement ring should really only go so far. There is a line that shouldn’t be crossed, and some of you have leapt so far over it, you should probably fill out a form to qualify for the next summer Olympics.

Let’s say the day finally occurs and the love of your life (or the last 18 months) gets down on one knee with the ring of your dreams that you not-so-subtley set as his iPhone background weeks ago. You want everyone to see, obviously, so you put up a couple of posts on Facebook and Insta. You’ll want a shot of him down on one knee, another at your “surprise” engagement party that you forced your best friend to plan to your specifications, and a closeup of your ring so everyone can look on in envy and/or judge ruthlessly in their group texts. All of that is great. After that, however, is when we start to have problems.

Oh, you got a manicure and just haaaaad to post a picture of the new gel on your left hand that just so happens to have your new diamond in the picture? Let me ask you a question. Before you got engaged, when the fuck did you ever Instagram a manicure? You’ll definitely caption it to talk about your spa day, but you’re not kidding anyone. You’re vain and we all know it. You get two social media posts featuring your ring. One, taken by you on the day of your engagement, and one taken by your professional photographer on your wedding day. We all know you’re engaged. Trust us, you didn’t let us forget. Look at your ring all you want on your own damn finger, but please, keep it off of the rest of our news feeds.

We should also talk about what you’re calling your spouse-to-be in public. For the last year and a half, you’ve referred to him as David. Now all of a sudden he’s your fiancé. I know his name is David. You know his name is David. Let’s just keep calling him David, shall we? Here are the rules. You get to use the word “fiancé” when: A) talking to a stranger, B) captioning your Instagram fianc-heeeeyyyy for ONE date, and C) when you wear your feyoncé racerback tank at your bachelorette. Other than that, it’s first-name basis.

One more thing. I know the wedding planning process is long, arduous, and expensive (unless you’re marrying into money), but under no circumstances — and seriously, I mean NO circumstances — do you get to bitch about how much you hate wedding planning. This is a lie. You know it, I know it, and every single person on the planet hates you for it. Sure, it’s stressful, but you don’t hate it. You love it because it means you fulfilled your lifelong dream of getting engaged before everyone else. When girls night rolls around, bitch about your grades, your finals, your professors, your roommates, and your family, but for the love of God, do not bitch about wedding planning. If and when you do, not only will we hate you, but it gives us the perfect excuse to talk behind your back about the shitty fake flowers you picked for your bridesmaids’ bouquets.

Anyway, congratulations! Here’s hoping your boyfriend actually gets into med school and finally deletes Tinder from his phone.

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RecruitmentChairTSM (@TheRecruitChair) is a contributing writer for Total Sorority Move. This current grad student and ex-sorority girl survives solely on Diet Coke and the tears of the pledges she personally victimized. She's a Monica, a Marnie, a Miranda, and a Regina. Her favorite hobbies include drinking $14 bottles of wine and binge-watching season 2 of Grey's Anatomy until she cries. You can send her annoying e-mails at [email protected]

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