My younger daughter often proclaims that she will never get married. And why should she want to? As much as I prefer to believe that her father and I are setting a shining example of affectionate, radically open communication, the reality is that she’s had a lifelong all-access pass to our version of a penguin marriage: the laborious diplomacy of marital negotiations, the low-key squabbling, the mutual suspensions of disbelief, the subtle undermining, the ever-increasing codependence. After fifteen years of this graceless ballet, it’s not surprising that all my daughter wants when she grows up
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