Women spend a lot of time looking for their soulmate. The “One”, the proverbial knight in shining armour, the man with the golden member. Whatever. Guys might think they’re looking for the “One” (you know: cooks, cleans, is contracted to wipe your mother’s backside when she becomes too old to eat solid food, etc. Oral sex is a plus.), but in reality, most guys will settle for whatever they land up with, as long as it has nice breasts.
The truth is, there's no such thing as a soulmate. There's simply a process that must be followed in marriage, and not everyone has the stomach for it. Sometimes the mixture goes green and has to be thrown out.
Guys don’t often look at the long-term picture here. Breasts hardly ever last forever - even the fake ones. Usually they are so surprised that a real live woman lets him touch her, he will, after enough nagging, settle down and have 2.5 kids. Trouble is, Married Utopia is like cheese – it may taste pretty nice, but after a while it gets stale and eventually, slightly furry. Especially after 2.5 kids.
Women have a knack for working with what they have. They will take that weedy underpaid office clerk and make him into that knight in shining armour, or he will die trying. Women see men as malleable lumps of clay, waiting to be moulded into a desirable shape with a late model car. She dutifully reminds him daily of his shortcomings and inspires him to be a richer, more successful man who will give her more money. She never gives up until he has become a tortured shadow of the dream she married. Still, by the time she has it, it is hard to deny the fact that he is balding and farts when he is nervous.
Men, on the other hand, tend to get disheartened quite easily. Just one year into the future, your glamorous sexy wife is transformed into a lumpy, misshapen mutant that either cries when you touch her or leaks milk out of her breasts, which, incidentally, used to be the object of desire of all the guys but now resembles uncooked dough in two long plastic bags.
So, you’ve been married ten years and your husband has avoided all your attempts to murder him and collect the inheritance. You’ve twice caught him texting other women and he now has enough scars and just enough brain cells left not to try it again. Your kids are big enough to start becoming their own people, and you have both realised that they are the kind of people you don’t really want to know. Getting to that plateau is the key. It is only then that the two of you will finally unite in mind, cellulite-stricken body and capitulating soul. The war is over. It is time to call a truce, wax each other’s backs and avoid your kids at all costs.
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