It was one of those conversations I wanted to immediately insinuate myself into, but as I wouldn’t want to shame my momma, I held back. Until-God bless her-one of the two turned to me, looked at my wedding ring, and asked, “How old were you when you got married?”

“Which time?” I asked.

She laughed and smacked her coworker on the arm, pleased that the ideal bad example had arrived to help illustrate her point.

“I was 18 the first time,” I said. “Trust me, 18’s too young. It is SO totally too young. Absolutely, completely, undeniably too young.”

In a different generation, 18 was probably fine, but while our society has managed to shorten childhoods, it has extended the amount of time it takes our young to mature into adults capable of making a commitment for life.

“So how old were you before you finally found the right man?” the clerk asked.

“Thirty-eight,” I said-an age her expression suggested she equated with coffin-shopping.  I considered telling her we’d fallen in love at the nursing home after he kindly shared his dentures with me on corn-on-the-cob night, but resisted.

“Look, if you Google ‘bad decisions’ and click on ‘images,’ I think my picture is there,” I said. “I thought I knew what I was doing, but I ended up going through a lot of grief before I finally got it right.”

There was more I wish I had said, but I’m not a good on-the-spot thinker. Any halfway decent advice I might’ve come up with would be hours away. But the encounter got me to thinking about how well most of us believe we know ourselves at different stages in our life.  At age 18, I thought a sky-blue velvet waterbed with built-in tape deck, chrome banding, and matching chrome reading lights was the absolute bomb. What business does someone with that immature a mindset have getting married?

At that age–and into the 20s–the desire to marry is often fueled by the desire to set up house or throw an elaborate wedding more than in the forever-ness of the union. Finding your person to commit to isn’t like choosing teams with the fear of being the last one picked. Just because you’re in love or comfortable together or smoking in the bedroom doesn’t mean you should grab for the rings.

I suppose it might seem hypocritical for someone who has changed her last name as often as me to offer marriage advice, but in order to learn from my mistakes, I first had to make them. Now that I’m most happily settled, I want to enjoy a little ride on the high horse by sharing one small tidbit I’ve learned.

I’ve learned that you aren’t ready for marriage until you’re ready to be selfless. You have to be willing to always put your spouse’s welfare before your own-and trust that your spouse will do the same for you. You should be willing to walk through fire for your mate if that’s what they ask, but wanting what’s best for you, they should never ask.

 I know how painful divorces can be. And how expensive and time-consuming and stressful, and how damaging to your self-worth.

In many cases, all it takes is being patient enough to wait until you’re both truly ready. Until you’re both older and wiser and past the age of putting your own wants first. Until you’re ready to love someone more than yourself, and to want what’s best for them.

A recent study conducted by Paul Amato (author of “Generation At Risk”) found that “the chance of divorce recedes with each year that a woman postpones marriage, with the least divorce-prone marriages being those where the couples got married at age 35 or higher.”

So if people can reduce their chances for divorce simply by waiting until they’re older to marry, then shouldn’t the legal age to marry be raised? Imagine how the divorce rate would plummet if those wanting to vow “’til death us do part” waited until they were 80 to wed. 

I got the feeling the clerk at Kmart was being pressured into marriage. I hope she loves her man enough to say no.