All of my friends had gotten divorced. That was the reason I didn’t want to get married. I believed the simple act of marriage was a relationship destroyer. Everything just got worse from there. Kids. Bigger Houses. More work to afford the life my wife wanted. I didn’t want kids, either, but I loved Mary and so I decided to go along with it.
We got married nine years ago and it came with some pretty strict rules: We would live in the city. Our kid would go to public school until it was time for high school, and then we’d have to bite the bullet and send her to private school. We would have two cars. Our “fun” car—a Mustang convertible—and our family car—a Hyundai Santa Fe. We would live below our means. This would ensure that our marriage would last. Everyone else rushed out to the burbs, got a big house, a big minivan, and their misery levels skyrocketed.
Doing things my way would ensure these things wouldn’t happen to us.