Happily Ever After

Marriage really should have a health warning since it's the most comprehensive means of fucking yourself up known to man. I was reminded of this today when a colleague informed us that his wife was expecting. (I was grateful that he didn't say we are expecting, otherwise I would have been forced to beat him to death with a long stapler, something which I believe is frowned upon at some companies.) Anyway, this revelation prompted many comments and pieces of advice from surrounding workmates, as well as hints on what to expect next. One poor sad wanker was explaining how he would now be forced to buy all manner of expensive and unnecessary baby crap that his pregnant wife would want, based apparently on his own experience. This reminded me yet again how lucky I was to marry a woman with both a sense of humor and a brain (nice arse too); you wouldn't think that this combination would be too hard to find, but it seems that a lot of men say "I Do" without realizing that thay will be saying yes to the following:

• A house full of seasonal accessories, scented candles, pot pourri and endless other assorted crap.
  
• Hordes of harpies decending on the house to play bunco, do scrapbooking or similar utterly pointless shit.
  
• Working all day so you can pay a cleaner to clean the house, day care to look after the kids and Pizza Hut to cook your meals, just so she can spend more time drinking coffee with other lazy suburban women.
  
• Putting up with some complete twat friend she's had since college that you'd happily kick down the stairs.
  
• Living in dread of the credit card bill because she can't pass a shoe shop or mall store without buying something, like it's some form of fucking addiction.
  
• Bullshit relationship psychology from the likes of Oprah ("But she says we should make a list of our dreams and then swap them")
  
• Maintaining the pathetic charade that being married means you're not attracted to other women, as if that's even believable...
  
• Cat litter trays and Glade scented plug-ins.
  
• Scintillating conversation with someone who actually looks forward to watching Gilmore Girls, for fuck's sake.
  
• Throw pillows on the bed.
  
• Packing up all your memorabilia, the stuff that actually had good times associated with it, so you can surround yourself with tasteful, bland ornaments.
  
• Having your gonads cut open. ("Vasectomy is no big deal - my friend Susan said so.")
  
• Driving a minivan. (After all, if you're going to have your balls confiscated, why not advertise the fact to friends and family?)
  

This is why I don't think people should be allowed to marry until they've lived together for a while. At least you get a more realistic view of the person you're going to wake up with for (allegedly) the rest of your natural life. No matter how careful you are though, there's a good chance that the pretty, wild, sexually adventurous, non-conformist girl you were so attracted to is going to grow up into the scrapbooking, drape-coordinating, PTA-organizing, testicle-shriveling lead in a suburban nightmare from which you will never awake.

Welcome to the baby shower, motherfucker!


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison