I want to BE married. It’s the GETTING married that’s driving me nuts. After nearly a decade of bachelorhood, I am counting down the last couple of months before nuptialation. I’m not sure I’m going to make it. I try to be helpful. Really, I do. Take the tuxedo. I thought a 1970s theme would be cool since we both graduated high school back then. “There are four of us on the guys’ side,” I said. “We could paint our faces and dress in the spandex, chains and leather of the metal band KISS.” “Yes, you could,” she said. “But not at MY wedding.” I decided it best not to mention my idea for the bridesmaids — though I still think striking the “Charlie’s Angels” pose would have been excellent. It hardly seems fair that guys are allowed no input on the wedding gown, but the bride-to-be marches her man to multiple tuxedo shops as if he’s her life-sized Ken doll. ‘‘Well, that’s nice,’’ she says, spinning him around like he’s planted on a Barbie fashion carousel.