A young woman I had known since I was twelve made a post on facebook questioning the point of marriage. She recieved quite a few responses and some of them addressed the practicality of such an arrangement. However, the majority of the comments were counter-marriage. Some declared there was no point but there was one comment in particular that furrowed my brow:

“women want shiny things on their fingers”

1. A generalization.

2. A generalization that marks a desire that can be measured by monetary means.

3. A generalization that is mocking and unfair.

One meek voice in the sea of “nay-sayers” (as in “no, we don’t”) spoke about finding the one you love and loving them forever. She rambled on about how she believes that marriage is the highest form of dedication. At least, I think this is what she was trying to say. There was a little trouble in the parallelism and spelling department. I admit I was a little flustered by her response. It validated the young woman’s argument because it made the believers in marriage sound uninformed and naive. The spokeswoman for marriage then went on to inform the young woman that she can’t help herself because she’s a romantic who “love[s] Nicholas Sparks.” That’s it, ladies and gents, marriage is a disease that can’t be helped! We’re ill, ’tis all.

I’m a believer in marriage. I believe in dating to find the One and I believe I found him. Don’t we all? We, the romantics. Don’t we create these ideals in our minds and then project them upon a warm, human body? Don’t we then just hope for the best? See? I have some traces of toxic optimism in me. I remain in a relationship with a man who chose to play Red Dawn Redemption rather than comfort me in my crumbling state of faux idealism. To be honest, I just wanted sex. In my room, on the floor, I can’t be too particular. Frankly, I want it now as well. Wait, I can’t be too hasty. I wanted him to hold me first and then fuck me. Ideally, a green lolipop would be in the picture. In this castle in the sky, he should be holding it as I suck. The lolipop, I mean. ‘Tis difficult to rely on a gent’s flimsy emotional attraction for my bread and water but I make do with my colorful imagination. Before I start gnawing on the forthcoming analytical pie, allow me to add this piece:

“You will never understand men. Just try to understand yourself.”

Alright then. Why do I discuss marriage and then green lolipops board ship? I only suck with my beloved and I’d only want to suck him. Sucking=marriage in this warped head of mine. I’d only suck that person that I can imagine sucking forever and then we’d unite in holy, sucking matrimony. Except there’s nothing holy about it. We’d be bonded by the state of California or a common law minister dressed as Darth Vader. Whatever seems most ridiculous. I’m leaning towards California.

Ha. I’m a realist, sure but I have all these pesky ideas floating about my head that question the very truth of what I see.

“As much as I love you, I rarely get alone time to do what I want.”


Suck on that.