Stuck in a Jane Austen Novel

I was an Austen addict at the tender age of 12. In fact, spending hours with my head in Pride and Prejudice warped my syntax, my perceptions on relationships, and my flirting skills for life. However, I recently realized the Austen novel I should’ve been studying all those years wasn’t Pride and Prejudice. It was Emma, a novel of unrequited crushes, self-delusion, and women behaving badly. The LDS Church has gone so far as to make hundreds of working models of the book, each with its own Emmas, Harriets, Churchhills, Knightleys, and poor Miss Bateses. They call it a singles’ ward.

The idea is to dump all the single people together in the hopes they get married off. When they succeed, they get to leave. Until then, they’re stuck in limbo where every word, action, and social interaction are strategized and analyzed. Even something as simple as your choice of seat in church could determine your eternal future. The whole thing is exhausting. It’s why most childless married folks are willing to sit through church services with wailing babies, senile speakers, and a strange fog of Cheerio dust. It’s better than the alternative.

That’s why I’m so annoyed that we’re BACK. Church policy in Europe recently changed so that childless marrieds are lumped together with singles. Since Ruyman and I are the first married couple they’ve added to the mix, there’s a lot of confusion regarding who and what we are. Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? Engaged? Living in sin? (Happily, no one’s asked if we’re siblings.) A simple ring-check doesn’t help since some countries in Europe wear a wedding ring on the right hand and others on the left. Wedding rings also tend to be a plain gold band. Mine is silver. Ruyman doesn’t wear one.

The uncertainty causes a lot of awkward moments. For the last five years, Ruyman and I have adopted a policy of avoiding anyone of the opposite sex that showed more than a friendly amount of interest. We figure it’s better to be overcautious about things like that than end up in a situation we don’t want. Every time we’re with the young adults, my spousal senses are tingling and I want to run, not walk to the nearest exit. But because the Knights, an older missionary couple from Alabama, are so kind and wonderfully American, I stay, grit my teeth, and hold tight to my husband for all I’m worth.

So as much as I try to be a matronly Mrs. Weston, somehow I’m thought of as an Emma, or at least a Harriet. I’m pretty sure Miss Austen didn’t cover this one.