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Rated: 18+ · Essay · Comedy · #1980552
Humorous personal essay about life after marriage.
Getting married was probably the single best event in my life, and I'm sure a lot of you would agree with me. I mean, not that my wedding was the best event in my life, but that your wedding was the best event in yours. Below are some completely true conversations I've had since getting married. I did not in any way alter these conversations. Again, these are factual and happened, no exaggeration included.

The In-Laws

"So, son, how's the job working out?" My father-in-law is a blue-collar man of few words, but when he does speak, he demands attention.

"Oh, great, actually. We've gotten some new clients lately, so that's been, ya know, good."

He loosens his tie and leans forward, with his elbow on his knee and points at me. "You've been taking good care of my daughter then? Now, don't be afraid to ask me for help if you need it."

His nostrils flare as he exhales deeply, daring me to ask for money.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat as her hand tightens around mine. "Now, there is one thing in this life that I want, Charlie."

I freeze, staring into his deep eyes of potential rage. "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

A beaming smile spreads across his face. "I want to be a grandfather!" He leans back in his recliner, hands locked behind his head, the smile still haunting his face.

"What?" I sputter, feeling beads of sweat form on my forehead.

"You know. I want a little one to spoil. Specifically, a boy, so I can take him hunting. Okay?"

"Well, I mean, we've talked about it and we aren't sure if we want kids."

He leans forward, his eyebrows furrowed in angry confusion. "What do you mean? Are you even trying to have kids?" he demands, motioning at us with disappointment.

"Are you asking me if I'm having sex with your daughter?" I ask.

For some reason, that's the last thing I remember.

The Brother

The ball bounces off the backboard, but my brother grabs it before I can get to it. "So, how are things with the wifey?" he asks, walking over to the bench for some water.

I follow him over. "They're good, actually. I mean, it's not really that different. We've been living together for a long time anyway."

He nods, spitting some water onto the court before us like a human fountain. "You know what you gotta do now, right?"

"What's that?"

"You gotta knock her up," he says casually, picking up the ball and heading over to the free throw line.

I follow him again, feeling like the pet I always do when I'm around him. "Yeah, we don't really want any kids."

He looks at me, shocked and shakes his head. "No, man. You've gotta have kids. You know, what you really need is to nail her down before she realizes what a dumbass you are."

"Hey, thanks!" I say, cheerfully.

He throws the ball, nothing but net. "Really, though. Where do you think Amanda and I would be if we didn't have a kid?"

I resist the urge to tell him that he'd be in a better place. "Okay, but, you guys aren't even married yet. So aren't you doing it wrong?"

He looks at me disgusted. "Wow, you're so old-fashioned. Look, have a kid, then see how you feel."

"Okay, I'll just go ahead and have the kid, then throw it away if I don't want it."

He nods in agreement. "Good, I'm happy to hear you say that. Now come on, let's go get some food."

The Parents

"Oh, Charlie," my mom sighs. "I've never asked anything of you. What have I ever asked of you?"

I sigh and rest my head against the cool wood of the dining room table. "I don't know, Mom."

She pulls a chair out across from me, but I don't even glance in her direction.

"You know, your grandparents aren't going to be around much longer." I can hear the emotion forming in her voice.

"We just don't want kids," I explain for the hundredth time.

"All I want is to be a grandma!" she shouts, and the tears spill over.

"You're already a grandmother, remember?" I explain, calmly, lifting my head to look at her.

She sighs again, tapping her long nails against the table. I wish my other half was here to combat this with me. I see Mom strategizing. Finally, she finds a new approach. "Was I not a good mother to you? I know I could have done better."

"Mom, please," I beg, dropping my face into my hands and shaking the thoughts from my head.

"Well, I mean, that's the only explanation." She shakes her head sadly. "Okay, listen. I'm sorry! Is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry for every mistake I've ever made with you. Please, this means so much to me! I just want a little girl to take shopping and spoil. I never had a girl!"

Like you need to be reminded that you were supposed to be a girl. "Okay, Mom. Give me nine months."

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