From an actual conversation this morning, on the occasion of today being our anniversary.
Krissy: Eighteen years, baby. That’s a lot.
Me: Yes. Our marriage is now old enough to vote.
Krissy: But not drink.
Me: Well, not legally. As if that would stop our marriage.
That’s right. Our marriage is a reckless teenager, crossing the threshold to adulthood! You can’t tell it what to do anymore! You’re not the boss of it! It’s going to get its own apartment with some friends and party all night if it wants to! You can’t stop it! So there. And yes, it plans to go to college, one day. But right now it’s planning a year to hike around Europe and Asia. What do you mean with what money? It has a job as assistant manager at Cinnabon! What do you mean that if it gets its own apartment it won’t have money for Europe? Look, you just don’t get it, do you. Stop trying to control its destiny! It would argue more with you, but it has to get to the airport and open the store. Those Cinnabites won’t glaze themselves.
Our marriage, man. It is awesome.
(Note: it really is.)