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After dating Nashville for two years, I’m making a commitment and buying a house. Look, isn’t it fun? This is the back yard, complete with a sunroom and mature elm, cedar and maple trees. I get the keys in just a few weeks and will spend much of my summer hauling stuff across town and getting settled; I hate moving but after two cross-country versions this will be a cinch.

Ironically, the down payment for this commitment comes from the money saved for my wedding. Not all the money—my mom insisted we hold a little back so there’s enough for a dress and some butter mints on the off chance I still meet one of the six remaining 30-something normal Christian men in the country. I’m not worried about it—if he really loves me, we’ll get married in the back yard.