If every married couple you know ends up divorced, and it doesn't make you stop and wonder if your upcoming marriage is the best plan for your future, then may you get what's coming to you. Because there is no advantage large enough to off set the fact that you just spent a years salary to legally bind yourself to the most unstable person you know.
The short term financial gains of marriage are great. Tax advantages. Health insurance breaks. It's a perfect financial front to present to banking institutions. Two can live as cheaply as one, and with two incomes, it's a snap to buy that first home, retire mortgage debt, and accumulate equity.
There are the gender specific skills trade off. Like changing a tire.
Although it costs five bucks at Pep Boys, and any woman with breasts, can con any straight man within miles to change it for free. You still need to hedge your bets.
Enjoy this unparalleled accumulation of wealth while you can. In a few years you guys will be a bundle of bitter hate, both working over time to sabotage and undermine exactly everything that the other is trying to do. Those assets will disappear in a flurry of single malt scotch, hair plugs, and divorce litigation in a tenth of the time it took to acquire.
People shake their heads at the middle aged guy, flying down the freeway in a convertible with the top down, crooning "My Way" while his comb over cascades inches away from being sucked into the intake of a Peterbilt.
He has more direction than you.
He knows right where he wants this life to take him. And that would be head long into the piers of the Ventura Highway bridge over the 405.
Veteran's of holy matrimony. Ask yourself this.
Has my spouse spun as far out of control as I have?
Are they banging around with every twenty something bit of fluff they can get cornered?
Quit playing sugar daddie and move the oxycontin addicted, barely legal, affair partner hill billies you and your wife have been fucking, into the pool house you paid for with bank fraud and a third mortgage. And with the money you save, get the therapy you all will desperately need after the kids start banging each other instead of you and your wife. Then maybe a judge will grant you a divorce.
Drug addiction is great justification for your life spiraling out of control, so stock up on Valium's.
Bleach your short term memory while you still have the illusion of control, and before it dawns on you that with out money, control feels a lot like self loathing. If you are shaking your head up and down asking yourself how a cracker from Texas knows you so well, it is already too late.
Way too late.
You are going to have to stand in place like a kid in a dunce cap. Let your your soon to be ex slice your throat. And lay your empty head on your empty wallet beside the pile of month old credit card statements and bleed out.
I have these words of hope for you.
This is what you need to do.
NEXT TIME the Jones for marriage dulls your senses.
Find a magic marker, take a piece of cardboard, and make a sign asking for donations to the national "don't get your ass dragged from your car and beaten while stopped at a red light fund."
Panhandling is your destination employment anyway. Why wait til the last minute.
Start hustling change and marinating your liver in cheap wine now.
Apply yourself, and with any luck, you will be dead before you get old.
Who from the 60's never sang "my generation" in the shower?
It was a trick question.
No one took showers back in the sixties. The closest to bathing any of my friends got, was standing in the rain after the wind blew our tent away at Woodstock.
So get married if you want. We'll have something in common.
If I could choose between marriage, and reliving a week-end in up state New York, vibrating in sync to ear splitting, and mind numbingly naive lyrics about changing the world, while having a psychotic breakdown induced by harsh psychedelics manufactured in a bath tub by flunking chemistry students from Berkeley. Then spending several more years of accelerated aging brought on by drinking the cheapest of shoplifted wine and eating nothing but surplus government cheese.
Only to finish off by having my final years roll by in a horrific wasting away in some Nazi concentration camp-like warehouse for the disposal of the aged and in-firmed folks relegated to the margins of society.
It wouldn't give me one seconds pause.
Don't even have to think about it.
Not for a second.
If I had started that tailspin up front, instead of getting married, I would be dead by now and all my ex wives would be sorry they ever treated me the way they did.
Don't think you have it made because you are this * close to the alter and no one has abandoned ship. Talk to me after your new wife turns up naked in the cabin of the lounge singer booked on your honeymoon cruise.
Women take heed. Many a husband has lost himself in the hypnotic rush of flaming drinks served at the captains table in the presence of one of the top rated Wayne Newton impersonator's of the cruise industry.
Laugh at me now.
But you'll see.
You heard it here first.