You know the kind of people. The kind who know they’re going to get married– if solely for the reason that, well, that’s what people do.  They’re usually attractive, never have to worry about NOT finding someone, that thought never crosses their mind.

And so they do marry, someone equally attractive, with the same thoughts on marriage. Personalities aside, lifestyles similar. And they have a child. And they love it and talk on the phone twice a day sometimes three times in a nauseating don’t-you-have-anything-better-to-think-about way. And that’s it. That’ their life. They start referring to their spouse strictly as “my wife” or “the hubby”, constantly. This not only makes everyone around them vomit, but begins to be the only thing that defines them.

And they believe they’re happy. Shit, they probably are. Much more than I’ll ever be.