“What’s the secret?” Stanley asks, and you look over at me. “You guys look so happy,” one of the women follows. “Yeah—” her husband chimes in. “It’s like you haven’t lost it—if you know what I mean,” Stanley interrupts drunkenly. I watch as he drunkenly takes another swig of his fourth whisky. He places his glass on the table and eyeballs you. “So, don’t hold back,” he urges and he slurs heavily as he speaks, clearly not one to quit while he’s ahead. “Tell us the secret.”
You smile politely, because it’s not a new question for us; it’s what people always want to know. You’re thinking what I’m thinking: these people, they want a quick fix. They’re the epitome of everything that is wrong with society. They think there’s some magic pill you swallow that will make marriage anything but that w
