This morning all the gays in New York are thrilled that they can now get married legally, which, speaking as a married person--for the second time in fact--mystifies me. I've always fantasized that the gay lifestyle offered unlimited personal freedom and the ability to explore one's options as an individual, like being able to cook salmon for guests when it is so easy to prepare and is one of your specialties, except you never can because your husband is allergic.
Our marriage, now in it's 25th year, is probably among the better ones: Mitch and I actually respect one another, share an esoteric sense of humor which our only child also understands, and have rarely plotted the other's murder. My husband never beats me, except at Scrabble and then only sometimes. We sleep in the same bed which is surely comforting, although when he's out of town I do enjoy tossing and turning with abandon without hearing, "What's going on, I have to get up at 5 tomorrow."
Truth be told, until or unless you need surgery, at which time a spouse comes in quite handy although a mother is better, i.e. Shirley MacLaine in "Terms of Endearment," I'm not sure what the draw is for so many people. But congratulations and party on all you New Yorkers, just don't come crying to me when you want a divorce, which by the way is an extremely unpleasant experience and almost makes getting married to begin with seem downright silly.
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