Love And Marriage
By Christine-Marie L. Dixon


The problem, darling, is that if I married you, you’d expect me to go to church every Sunday and iron your ties and while you wouldn’t expect me to cook dinner every night you’d hint about how nice it would be to have a home cooked meal every so often. And after a while we’d stop having sex because I’d be tired or you’d be tired or we wouldn’t want the kids to hear and sooner or later we’d stop spooning in the middle of the night and I would complain about your snoring so you’d move into your own bedroom down the hall. We’d grow old together like a spinster sister and a bachelor brother and leave the bathroom door open and I would stop shaving my legs and you’d stop working out and I’d develop a chronic shopping habit and you would become addicted to watching football and we’d stop making margaritas and sidecars and just stick to beer because opening a bottle is easier than mixing a drink.

It’s not your fault, darling, that you’re just the tiniest bit dull. In your last life you were a monk and you only masturbated twice, once when you were 16 and once when you were 57 and other than that your sexual experience was limited to the dirtier parts of the Bible and a night spent at your brother’s house when you overheard him fucking his wife who may or may not have been a lesbian but that’s beside the point

We would have been a good couple if we were farmers and I could churn butter while you planted crops and we could grow old and gray like that painting you like so much (you know the one I’m talking about) the one where the man is holding the pitchfork and the woman looks like she’s constipated. But as it is, I’d rather not drive a minivan and I think I might be a little embarrassed to take you to my high school reunion because of the way you laugh. It might be cute now but after a few years I suspect I would stop saying anything funny just so I wouldn’t have to hear that helium-propelled giggle that seems to fall out of your nose.

But… have a nice life and all.


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Christine-Marie L. Dixon is a writer and musician from Detroit.