There’s Something About Marriage, by Hank Layton

Somewhere on this planet is the future Mrs. Hank Layton.

The only person who can’t wait to meet her more than me is my mom.

All of my siblings, a handful of my cousins, and even a few of my nieces and nephews are married. Of the sixteen people in my high school graduating class (small sample size, I know), all but three have put a ring on it – including my two best buds. Two of the free souls are the class retards. The other is me.

I’ve been a groomsman twice, a best man, an usher, even a candle boy. But I’ve never been the man. Not even for an hour in Vegas. And I’m cool with that. Even now, just a few weeks after my 25^th birthday, I am satisfied, even somewhat ecstatic, that I’m not married like the majority of my Midwestern peers. I could eat a bowl of Reese’s Pieces in beer for every meal of the week if I so desired.

Although two dozen years of the single life has by no means made me an expert on relationships, it has given me a lot of time to examine some pretty damned unhappy married couples.  From what I’ve observed, I’m doing the right thing by being patient. Here are some highlights:

1.     If you’re married, you regret it and have Googled “how to time travel” at least once. And you never have sex.

2.     If you’re single, it’s likely because you’re divorced. And you never have sex.

3.     It is impossible to talk to your friend’s wife without coming off as flirty.

4.     Too many people settle.

5.     Too many people have kids when they shouldn’t.

6.     Too many people exist on Earth.

Okay, that last one is a much bigger problem than I can currently address, especially since it seems nobody is having sex, but you see where I’m going.

When my friends complain about their spouses, I say, “Yeah, that’s a tough situation.” But I really want to say, “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have gotten married. Idiot.” One of these days I’m going to say the latter. Deep down, the other person will agree. Idiot.

Because the thing is, there are happy couples. There are men and women glad to wake up next to each other with the slice of cake still sitting in the freezer. They’re not the creepy, matching sweater, tandem bike, swinger party couples, either. They’re legitimately happy couples. It’s not about destiny or any gooey stuff like that; there’s not one and only one person who each of us was born to find and be with. I’m talking about simple compatibility – a person you actually enjoy the sight of, who you can interact with without wondering the best place to bury her body.

Do you smell that? It smells like a thesis statement…

I think the perfect relationship occurs when neither partner settles.

Damn, that smells good, doesn’t it? One more time…

I think the prefect relationship occurs when neither partner settles.

*For the young, married readers tearing up right now, you shouldn’t be saying to yourself, “Damn, this handsome stranger is right. Why the hell did I get married?” You should be saying to yourself, “Damn, this handsome stranger is right. Why the hell did I marry this particular person instead of being patient and finding someone who was more suitable, and marrying that person?”

It might be overused, but the saying “There are plenty of fish in the sea” is spot on. Not enough people take advantage of it, though. Not enough people go fishing. The happy couples do. They’re the people who throw back the carp, keep the Chilean sea bass, and live satisfied lives. These couples are proof that compatibility exists – that human beings can be happily married. They give me hope that Mrs. Layton is out there. They found their white whales. Now I want mine. (The term “white whale” should not refer to Mrs. Layton’s physical description, by the way.)

I’m not so naïve to think that any girl is perfect, movie characters excluded (looking at you, Rosario Dawson in Sin City and Joseph Gordon-Levitt in Inception), but I do hold out hope that there’s a woman out there who’s perfect for me. (Cue violins.) With this in mind, I’m going to detail what would be my perfect catch. And because there are so many fish in the sea, this girl must be out there somewhere. And because she exists, she must be reading this article because FlipCollective is the greatest website in the world.

Think of this as a lot like the Cake song, “Short Skirt, Long Jacket,” except I don’t give a shit what her nails shine like. I also don’t give a shit about race or hair color or even if she wears Uggs. Cute is cute.

Okay, let’s get it on. (Hopefully very often.)

I want a girl who doesn’t smoke cigarettes or meth, a girl without any questionable tattoos or asshole brothers. I want a girl who doesn’t order chicken strips at every restaurant, who queefs (hilarious!) but doesn’t fart (gross!), whose favorite book doesn’t feature vampires, wizards, or a character named Jesus Christ.

I want my future wife (and all of you) to follow me on Twitter, to bring home a 12-pack of Blue Moon on random weekdays without me asking, and to delete her shows on the DVR immediately after she watches them.

I want a woman who enjoys watching sports, but still doesn’t know the majority of player names. A woman who doesn’t think ferrets are cute and doesn’t acknowledge the existence of diarrhea or periods unless absolutely necessary. A woman whose favorite Beatles album is Sgt. Pepper’s, or at least loves “A Day in the Life” as much as me. A woman who doesn’t take Facebook too seriously. Who wants to move to the West Coast. Who loves roller coasters and eating meat. A woman who, after watching District 9 doesn’t ask, “So was that based on a true story, orrr…” (This is an actual question thrown at me by an ex, who apparently believes anything shot like a documentary – even one about a space alien concentration camp – is an actual documentary. No word on her thoughts of The Blair Witch Project.)

Bonus points to my future wife if she can promise me our first and only child will be a boy.

Or if she has puppy breath. If she has puppy breath, disregard all previous requirements. She’s the one.

Obviously, I’ll have to meet a lot of girls before I find one that even fits half of those criteria. Well..that’s what I’m doing. It’s called dating. I broke up with District 9 girl after three years together because I was honest with myself and with her. Living together for a year was fine, but we just did not have enough in common to sustain sixty more. Breakups suck, sure, and dating can be more frustrating than that one level of Angry Birds that you haven’t figured out yet, but it’s a lot better than being pissed off every day for the rest of my life. Frankly, the thought of having children and possibly putting them through a divorce scared the shit out of me. I never experienced what it was like to go through a divorce, but I find it frighteningly selfish of people to ignore the red flags in their relationships and squeeze out a couple of kids. Like, Sarah-Palin-as-President frightening.

Every married man I’ve encountered in my life has told me not to get hitched. It’s like a tradition for husbands to pass such information on to bachelors. I feel like I’m the only one listening to these dummies. It’s simple: I’m waiting for the right girl. I’m refusing to settle. My dad, brothers, cousins, and best friends should be proud. Sorry, Mom.

Single girls should date more, as well. They shouldn’t feel pressured into getting married. I know their married girl-friends reveal how miserable they are. Why hurry into that? Why deal with that stress for countless years? Go out tonight, ladies. Meet some dudes. Just do us a favor and ignore the ones wearing fedoras.

We’ve all seen the happy couples, the couples we’re jealous of. The ones we wouldn’t mind if they asked us to join their threesome. We can all be in one of those relationships with a little bit of patience and a lot of honesty – honesty with one’s self and with one’s partner.

I want to be one of those husbands. I want one of those wives. I’m in my boat. I have my pole and bait.

Let’s go fishing.

And if you’re a girl who happens to fit all the earlier criteria, want to go out sometime? Oh, you’re already married to some asshole?

Well, go back to the asterisk. There’s still hope.

Unless you let him knock you up. You did? Gross.

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