Why divorce happens: a completely definitive guide

So many marriages these days end in divorce. Unrealistic conservatives call it an epidemic of massive proportions and point to things like pornography and the Simpsons as purveyors of a wanton, new, consequence-free social paradigm that’s quickly shuffling us all towards Gomorrah, while selfish babies point to everything from the animal kingdom to life extending medication to the lessons of our parents to justify why divorce ain’t a big deal. I’m not trying to come down on either side here, because frankly, they’re both wrong, and as we discussed yesterday, real issues are rarely able to be reduced to a simple two sided argument. I know all about why people are getting divorced. I live inside a marriage and I’ve discovered the place where the water first trickles through before the dam bursts. I KNOW where divorce comes from and I’m gonna share it with you.

Now, before you read into this too much, I don’t think my marriage is gonna end in divorce (It’s much more likely to end with my wife just running out for a pack of smokes and never coming back, which is a whole different thing). Lots of marriages don’t, but some do. Lots do, and here’s why:

When you first see that special dude or lady that you someday end up convincing to try some form of unnatural sex which eventually results in enough guilt and weirdness to ultimately lead to a marriage proposal, there tends to be some form of energy there. Some couples report hating each other upon first meeting, while others claim to instantly have recognized true love while still others (and I’m guessing this is about 95% of everyone) just become overwhelmed with the urge to bone the bejezus out of one another. This is the category I fell into (and still find myself in, hence the constant pestering, a decade later).

So, you’re there with this potential life/boning partner and you manage to not fuck it up. You end up with each other’s phone numbers, you guys decide to go out, maybe you bang or immediately exchange oral sex in the back stall at the Dennys that you’re in and things are starting to go well. You get this reasonable idea that you’re at least semi palatable to this other person. So what happens next?

You hide yourself away as much as humanly possible, that’s what happens next. You don’t want him knowing about your hairy ass, so you get it waxed. You brush your teeth before you see her, you pretend you’re not outraged by people saying that Jedi is the best of the original trilogy, you douche, you hold in your farts with the desperation of someone hiding under the bed from a death squad holding in a sneeze, you never, ever shit. You’d rather DIE than shit. You pretend to like her weird tits and dipshit friends, you pretend that you’re fine with licking balls. You act like this weird sex position that you’re constantly finding yourself in is something you don’t find to be degrading/painful/ridiculously laughable. You show up on time, you pay for things. You pretend to be employed. You laugh at shit that you’d otherwise openly mock. You agree with things you strongly disagree with. You wear panties that match your bra that match your shoes (because that’s gonna be all you’re planning on wearing at some point in the evening) that matches your dress. You check your teeth. You actually wash your hands after you piss. You shower. You pretend you don’t ever think about banging his/her friends. You clean up your filthy, disgusting room.

(ed note: in every relationship I’ve ever been in, this last item has actually never materialized. From the most casual all the way up to my wife, I’ve never cleaned my room for a girl, nor has anyone ever cleaned their room for me. American, Midwestern white women between the ages of fourteen and twenty five have to be the sloppiest, messiest human beings on the planet. Followed closely by me. Just sayin.)

So here you are: you’ve got this person that makes you happy and all you have to do to make them happy in return is completely hide almost everything about yourself. Meanwhile, they’re doing the same exact thing (though you don’t ever realize that. You think they like the way you twist their tits when you’re fucking them and that they really always keep their balls shaved, or that they don’t find your eating habits to be gross). It’s a happy and exciting house of cards, marked by lots of work and lots of boning as a reward for said work. These are the good times, right? So why not kick it up a notch?

You move in together/get married. These can be interchangeable, because for one thing, lots of divorces are avoided by people living together and then breaking up, and for another thing, lots of people live together forever and never get married. The general notion of what happens next, however, is the same. And it’s this:

Suddenly, that person that was the one person on earth that you never ever wanted to fart in front of becomes the one person that ends up smelling ALL your farts. They’ve gone from being the person that you think doesn’t shit to the person that doesn’t light the match or spray the spray. They wake up in the morning and they’re grumpy, or you’re grumpy. They’re standing right there so it’s not maintaining any sort of illusion to shave your back right in front of them. May as well let it go. He’s right there, and he knows that I haven’t had my asshole waxed for a while, it’s not like he’s gonna be upset if it’s still not waxed tonight when we go out. This is in stark contrast to when these things used to be priorities. Now, they’re expendable and seemingly pointless time wasters; smoke and mirrors that are only being put up for someone who’s in on the trick. What’s the point?

Well, do you know the physics behind a house of cards? Because if you take one card out, the whole thing collapses. Suddenly, she’s not getting the smooth-backed gentleman that she thought she had purchased. She’s, however subtly or unconsciously, realized that the masks are falling. A decision is made (again, perhaps subconsciously) that she’s not putting your balls in her mouth any more. She doesn’t like it, and it seems like we’re getting rid of the inconvenient things in this relationship, right? And Balls-mouth is certainly inconvenient.

Well, no balls in the mouth means no more pretending I like your cunty best friend or all these stupid pillows. Well, you don’t like my pillows? I hate your action figures/beer posters/neon signs/band/stench. My stench! Don’t you dare deride my stench! How bout this: I’m not really a dentist! I actually just sell asprin to old people at the nursing home and tell them it’s heart medicine and I charge six hundred bucks a pill! How bout that?!

And it goes on and on and on like this.

You see how this can quickly lead to people bolting from each other, regrouping alone, douching, shaving their backs, pretending to always wear clean underwear, and then fucking it all up again with someone new, can’t you?

Sure you can. You’re not idiots, right? Of course not. Anyhoo, if you find that this is what’s happening to your marriage/LTR, well, there’s one foolproof way to fix it right up: Have kids. It’ll have you guys waxing each other’s assholes and back in matching underwear faster than you can say “Dinosaur Train.” Seriously, it’s foolproof.

Okay, speaking of, this baby is upset. Gotta go.

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