Like everyone else in the western world, I know exactly what went wrong with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie*.
It wasn’t hookers. It wasn’t drugs. It wasn’t Marion Cottilard (although she is so ridiculously attractive you can only look at her sideways in low-light, so, there’s that…)
It was matrimony. It was that wedding. It was that scribbled-on dress. It was the French Chateau and the kids in tuxes and all those magazine covers.
They should never have done it.
You know how I know when my 11-year-old relationship is going through a low moment?
I start Googling rings. Diamond ones.
When that happens, it means that I am flirting with the idea that my partner and I ought to get married.
He and I share two children, a mortgage, an extended family, and more than a decade of history and stories. Our lives are completely intertwined. He knows me better than anyone else. I love him more than anyone else.
But the ring-Googling days are a sign that I have decided that today, we are not enough. We need to mix things up.
Maybe we've been at a wedding and I love how our beautiful friends look, lit from the inside out and gazing at each other like a cake they can't wait to taste. That looks perfect, I think, as I look over at my other half, who's semi-comatose in front of The Walking Dead.
Maybe my daughter has asked me - again - if she can wear a pretty dress and carry some flowers. Aw, that would be nice, I think, as break another hairbrush on her birds' nest hair.