One of the best things about married life?  Never getting to watch the program you want.

See, when spouses spent time together in front of the idiot box, typically one spouse (see:  Half) does not want to watch the stupidity the other spouse (see: other half) is currently watching.

Ergo:  “Where’s the remote?”  So much for that/

Patrice O’Neal (may his caustically acerbic soul RIP) had a great bit about that … “Isn’t This Better?” 
No actually it’s not, but hey … whatever.  I wasn’t supposed to be enjoying myself anyway.  How dare I.

I kid.  I jest.  I jape.  In reality, I’m burdened with joy.

I’m so happy I could shoot myself.  Really.

I complain because I can.  There is nothing I wouldn’t do for the fam, and I feel so blessed and privileged to have such a great one.

Half is a pill I’m overjoyed to swallow.  Everyday.

theKid is every blessing I didn’t know I wanted, or needed.

I was planning to die single and alone— well not entirely alone.  Maybe some Huskies or a few Pits — but certainly without people, and certainly without someone who would mourn my death.  Might eat my face, but only out of love.  And hunger.  Lots of hunger. 

Not as bad as cats, tho’.  Cats don’t even wait until you’re dead, just immobile for an extended period. 
Vicious little creatures.  But so cute.  Meh-row.

Andrew Tate went off on a rant about the emptiness of MFs lives … how travel and a career and likes on social media are vacuous exercises in ultimate futility.  That luxury condo and Birkin bag will not bring comfort in one’s dotage … a pocket dog probably will, but if you die at home and unattended it too will eat your face.  So there’s that.

Family is the debt you pay to past generations, to honor the sacrifice the elders made to get you (the collective “us” you) to this point in their future, your children’s past, and the gift of the present.

Life, for all its problems, is still pretty good.  {1 Samuel 1:20}