On June 2, 2000, I asked Jennifer to marry me. We were standing on the roof of my building in Battery Park City when the engagement ring burned its way through my pocket and onto Jennifer's fourth finger. With the Statue of Liberty as our witness, we pledged to spend the rest of our lives together. We immediately ran downstairs to inform our family and friends about our big decision.

Curiously, that's when the future stopped for us. As soon as we descended from the rooftop and out of eyeshot from Lady Liberty, time started moving backward. A pattern formed every time we informed a relative about the exciting news. After a brief exultation and a hearty congratulation, we were immediately peppered with the question, "So when is the big day?" Our friends were no different from our respective families. My fraternity brothers asking me, "When's the wedding?" Jennifer's childhood friends asking her, "Have you set a date yet?"

Although we appreciated the intention of the question, we had no idea when the big day would arrive. We had only been engaged a matter of minutes and already we were running out of time. From my perspective, I couldn't think past the part where I gave her the ring, and I doubt that Jennifer had an actual date for the nuptials in mind when she accepted my matrimonial proposal. Finally, after a seven-year courtship, our loved ones should have realized that this might take a while. Nevertheless, Jennifer and I immediately realized - the countdown had begun.

The movies repeatedly depict the passage of time with a clock racing forward and a kitchen calendar having its pages flipped off into a gusting wind (Why the wind is gusting in the kitchen is a question that will always torment me.) Occasionally you might see a main character "X" out the dates on his wall calendar until he reaches the encircled target date marked "The Big Day". Once in a blue moon on the Classic Movie Channel, you might see a scene with an hourglass illustrating the sands of time running out. In all three cases, movie time flies by like a calendar caught in a full force gale. Before the audience blinks, the main characters have arrived at "The Big Day."

Jennifer and I did not "X" the boxes on our calendars even after we set June 2, 2001 as our "Big Day". We maintained a great deal of poise during our countdown, especially in the face of pressure from our respective genders. When discussing my impending wedding date, my male friends tend to describe the countdown more as "looming", similar to a NASA countdown or a public hanging (The song 25 Minutes to Go from the Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison album comes closest to describing the feeling).

On the other hand, Jennifer's female friends have embraced the countdown more as a call to action than facing of the firing squad. Whenever Jennifer receives a call from a college roommate, a new action item must be checked off or added to the list - Flowers, Wedding Bands, and Showers - as the countdown continues. Since I was only offered, and graciously accepted, a minor role in the planning of the affair, I have very much enjoyed my "looming" while Jennifer and her cadre of female generals have been "acting".

On June 2, 2001, the countdown will be completed and the future will actually begin for us. We will thankfully start counting anniversaries instead of "weeks-to-go". That is, I suppose, until the first relative asks the dreaded question, "So, when do you two plan to have kids?" and the next countdown begins.