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Also, why do I get only one husband? Wouldn’t it be nicer to have a room full of husbands—some creative, others practical, some extremely pretty, others incredibly dexterous?
Marriage can’t always be about living your best lives in sync. Because some of the peak moments of a marriage are when you share in your insecurities, your anxieties, your fears, and your longing. That commitment, the one that can withstand and even revel in the darkest corridors of a life, grows and evolves and eventually transcends a contract or a ceremony the way an ocean overflows and subsumes a thimble of water.
Even if you still love your spouse very much, just recognizing that he’ll be with you until one of you dies is enough to invite your mortality into the room permanently. Over time, marriage itself starts to feel like a slowly unfolding apocalypse.
From a distance, the solid ground of marriage has a way of looking mundane and exotic at the same time.
I wanted an intellectual who was also a comedian, but with a nice ass. I wanted a cross between a therapist and a cowboy.
Marriage is a lifelong market correction to true love’s overvaluation.
I want to see you seethe for a solid hour, and then figure out that you’re the one who messed up the most, you’re the one with the out-of-control temper, you’re the one who needs to calm the fuck down.
“Okay. I hear you.” That’s all he said, because he literally has nothing to say, ever, like all men.
Nothing is more romantic than being totally in sync, even if that means you’re totally doomed.
Veronica wanted kids too, and she didn’t like them either.
Toughness is often the refuge of people who view themselves as inherently bad.
I felt like an asshole, but I knew, viscerally, that we were in for a rough ride.
As a pregnant woman, I am expanding and also disappearing.
I needed him to live so that I wouldn’t have to take the kids to the bathroom by myself every time.
