This is a pic of Mr. T and I on our wedding day. Wait... I didn't tell you that I'm a beefy black man and I married a 400-lb. cross dresser? Too bad. It's a good story.
So everyone keeps asking me "How's married life?"
Well, I'll tell you. It feels the same. It feels like two people living together who are obsessed with their two cats, enjoy cooking exotic meals and dream of traveling the world on someone else's dime. I mean, I do occasionally look down at my wedding band and internally scream, "Sweet baby Jesus, I'm married!" But aside from that, it's the same old same old.
It is interesting how everyone expects you to feel different. People are all, "Well, do you *feel* married?" And I'm all, "Not really." And then the conversation dies off into awkward silence, broken only by random references to A-Fraud or how fabulous my hair looks these days. (By the way, I would discuss either of these topics at length with anyone who would listen to me.)
And I'm not just a wife. It's better than that. I'm a *second* wife. Which I've truly deemed to be a blessing. Being a second wife means that a) he was a big jerk to his first wife, but learned a lesson the first time and will do everything in his power to keep you healthy, happy and buzzed on quality wine, or b) he had his heart broken the first time but loves you enough to take the chance of it happening again, and therefore will do everything in his power to keep you healthy, happy and buzzed on decent wine. Either way, the second wife wins. The only other scenario is c) that he is a big jerk, remains a big jerk and will be a big jerk to you, too, in which case you are totally asking for it and he will soon move onto wife number 3. But then you will get husband number two and will therefore treat him well due to either a) or b). You see, it's an endless circle of potential happiness. Why is divorce getting so much bad press again? Cause without it I wouldn't be the second wife, which would totally suck.
But alas, I am the same Sassy girl who wears Two Socks. It's just that now Mr. T has legal rights to one of those socks.
One of these days I need to write something nice and loving about Mr. T since he constantly badgers me about the fact that my blog is an outlet for me to bash him and share those little secrets of his that only I know with the world (Por ejemplo, his man-crush on Tony Bourdain.)