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I was supposed to end up alone

It's weird to be planning my wedding. I, of all people, was supposed to end up alone. At least, that’s what I was told -- directly by countless online commenters and indirectly by culture warriors like Lori Gottlieb, author of "Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough," and Laura Sessions Stepp, "Unhooked: How Young Women Pursue Sex, Delay Love and Lose at Both." In my early 20s, I began passionately defending hookup culture from its critics and often used my own experiences with casual sex to make my case. According to their wisdom -- which included such delightful gems as, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" -- I was destined to end up a sad cat-lady cliché. I would be depleted of the so-called love drug oxytocin and incapable of bonding, like a rhesus monkey raised on a wire mother.

Instead, I'm nearing 30, cohabitating, engaged and talking about becoming a mom in the not-so-distant future.

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