Marriage is Not Very Good At All

Don’t be fooled by those who claim to enjoy it!

It strikes me lately that I’ve been making marriage sound like a fun and relaxing thing. I’ve been acting like getting married is just like hiring your own little bitch boy who tells you you’re a genius constantly (when he’s not hiding from you). So today I’m going to tell you a few shitty things about being married, so you don’t get confused about how good it is.

One bad thing about being married is that you have to tolerate the terrible things your spouse likes. You also have to put up with knowing why he likes certain things, and trust me, you really don’t want to know. Because from there, you’re left to imagine what he thinks liking a certain thing says about him.

My husband likes ‘80s punk, which would be fine, I guess. But based on the way he talks about ‘80s punk, it’s obvious that he thinks it is just unimpeachably cool. And that simply will not stand with me. Because I can only think of one or two things that are unimpeachably cool. Frida Kahlo is one. Those machines that laminate shit, that’s another thing. And that’s about it.  

But I’m not stupid enough to believe that my admiration for Frida Kahlo makes me cool by proxy. That would be madness! In fact, because Frida Kahlo is so unimpeachably cool, I would be very embarrassed to have her paintings on my wall, because that would look like an announcement to all who enter, “LOOK EVERYONE, I LIKE SOMETHING THAT IS UNIMPEACHABLY COOL, THEREFORE I MYSELF AM DEMONSTRABLY COOL!” And nothing is less cool than believing that you’re cool, or believing in CONSENSUS w/r/t cool. Nothing nothing nothing. Everyone knows that!

And even though this or that artist can be cool, an entire category of music like ‘80s punk cannot be unimpeachably cool. Because what, every single punk band from the ‘80s was cool? That’s not possible. Categories of things cannot be amazing with no exceptions, unless they’re categories of fucking… birds or… cheeses, maybe. But no, there are bad cheeses and annoying birds, too.

The worst part is, when I try to make fun of how cool my husband thinks he is for liking ‘80s punk, other people say shit like, “Oh, but ‘80s punk is very cool. What’s wrong with ‘80s punk?” That only makes it worse. Now I hate them and my husband.

Speaking of hating, my husband likes to golf. As we’ve already established, golf is a stupid game for worthless idiots. But when I try to talk to other people about how much I hate golf (and by proxy my husband) they say, “Oh, golf is so bad. Golf is for assholes!” This makes me think that golf is not as bad as they say it is, and that makes me feel alienated from them and from my husband, who likes a dumb sport but also doesn’t know how alienated loving that sport should make him feel, based on how alienated it makes me feel.

Why doesn’t my husband automatically feel all of the things that I feel? That’s one of the most relentlessly irritating things about being married. Isn’t the whole point of marriage that you spend all of your time with someone who doesn’t have a separate, distinct experience of the world that is not your own? I find it incredibly frustrating that my husband doesn’t know this, so he stubbornly refuses to like everything I like and dislike everything I dislike. Isn’t it obvious that I’m the one with the discerning taste here? Give up all of your dumb things and get into my things, already!

But then, sometimes, my husband will start to like what I like, and that only makes things worse, because then I know he only likes it because of me. “What the fuck are you doing?” I’ll say when he puts in a Bjork CD. “You never listened to Bjork before.” “Yes, I did,” he’ll say, weakly. What a fucking liar he is! How am I supposed to respect a liar like him?

Now, if we’re introduced to a thing together, like say we start watching the show “Barry” and we both sort of like “Barry,” that’s fine. But sometimes my husband will blurt out, “Ha ha, this show is great!” and I’ll say, “Maybe, but it’s too soon to tell now!” or we’ll be watching “Big Little Lies” and he’ll say, “Oh brother!” and I’ll say, “We’re only one episode into the second season and you’re turning me against it!” Or we’ll eat at a new restaurant and he’ll be like, “The yellowtail thing didn’t do it for me” and I’ll be like, “Dude, shut up and pretend to like it, we still have more expensive food to fuck with our mouths!” but he’ll be like, “It just wasn’t that great” and I’ll be like “WE HAVEN’T DECIDED YET! WE DON’T KNOW HOW WE FEEL YET!”

And then we’ll go outside and he’ll be like “It’s raining” and I’ll be like “GREAT. I WOULDN’T EVEN HAVE NOTICED” and he’ll be like “It’s OK, I don’t mind the rain,” and I’ll be like “YEAH BECAUSE YOU’RE SO PUNK YOU DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT RAIN, RIGHT?” and he’ll be like “I have a headache” and I’ll be like “WHEN SID VICIOUS GOT A HEADACHE HE STUCK BOBBY PINS THROUGH HIS FACE,” and he’ll be like “I never liked the Sex Pistols actually” and I’ll be like “Oh RIGHT TOO COOL FOR THE –” and he’ll be like “I’m in a bad mood” and I’ll be like “WHAT IN THE EVER LIVING FUCK DO YOUR FEELINGS HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?”

And then we’ll go pick up the kids from my brother’s house and they’ll start talking about what they liked and didn’t like at my brother’s house and, fuck me. You just can’t imagine. Being married is the absolute worst. Don’t do it, guys!  Never, ever get married.

Want to stick a bobby pin through your face? Write to askmolly at protonmail instead!