I once did a foolish, terrible thing, rash beyond reason: I married. I never proposed; I acquiesced. The argument was that the baby on the way should have the same last name as mommy and daddy. Take heed young couples—this is not a reason to wed. But I went through with it. There on the shore of Pyramid Lake I committed my life to a woman who looked like she’d smuggled a basketball into the ceremony under her wedding dress in case a pick-up game broke out (I often have a nigh insatiable need to suck at something for an hour.)
We made a go of it; I don’t want to get into the grimy details of that calamity just now, but after four years (or was it four hundred?) it was over. Divorce, though difficult, brought with it many good things. For instance, ex-wife jokes almost always elicit a forced, pitying laugh. Also, I finally came to really understand “The Serenity Prayer” and the importance of acceptance since we had two kids together and there was no way to avoid this new phenomenon in my life, the rise of a nemesis. I figured that was a movie thing; I never thought I’d actually have one. A nemesis, I mean.
The fights went on for a while and then fizzled out (similar to sex between married couples.) I’m glad it happened sooner than later, when it would have had a greater effect on the kids. I don’t mean to deter anyone. Don’t be afraid to commit to the one you love for the moment. Please, get married; take the plunge; prove me a bitter fool. I’ll never grow weary of ex-wife jokes, and I think we need all we can get.