Everyone I know is getting married. Everywhere I turn, people I don't know are also getting married. Okay, maybe not everyone and everywhere, but enough to freak me out and warrant flagrant generalizations. Is it something in the water? Perhaps the summer heat has softened hearts and brains just a bit, or enough so that people have become invariably welded onto one another. I cannot quite tell.

      All I know is that everyone is getting married and wearing white is suddenly okay after Labor Day. In fact, all I see is white: I am snow blind from the carats and smiles gleaming from my girlfriends. Hell, they could generate enough glow to power the whole damn city: radiance personified.

      What is it about getting married that makes a woman light up from the inside out and seem undeniably complete for the first time? Or maybe I should ask: what makes someone like me pounce upon the effects of their newfound happiness and identities, it would seem?

      I don't think it's because I'm cynical: my Dad's on his third marriage and I'm still a believer. I don't think it's because I'm jealous: I can't even commit to a Saturday night outfit. I do think, however, it has something to do with growing up.

      My friends and I are all turning 25 this year. We've had suspicions that things aren't quite how they used to be; responsibilities like red flags have denoted that. There are bills, apartments, careers and financial futures. And now marriage: the clincher, the final straw, the unavoidable symptom of growing up.

      To be quite honest, I just don't know if I'm ready for all of this. I still feel like a teenager, while my best friend is preparing for the arrival of her first child some time late this month. What the hell happened?

      I sat in the car with another best friend a month ago, one week before her wedding. I don't think either of us realized what was going on until I began to cry. We both cried in what can only be deemed disbelief. Friends since ten and now she was picking permanent teams: her and her man.

      I remember the sunset that day. We were driving over the Key Biscayne Bridge, ascending what seemed the most glorious sunset her and I had ever seen. So we vowed to not let things change; to always be friends, no matter what. She even suggested putting off childbirth so we could assure all of our children would be the same age. "When people have kids they never see each other anymore," she said. "Life becomes all about carpool and PTA meetings and soccer practice. If we all have kids at the same time then we can always be together."

      At the time I thought it a wonderful idea, envisioning the barbeques and joint birthday parties. But who were we kidding. Things are going to change. And although my heels are dug firmly in the ground, change is not something I can prevent. I'll try hard to accept. I'll close my eyes and think of that sunset - think of how nice it is that I don't have to do it alone.