Categories > Original > Humor > Easier To Lie0 Reviews
A young husband and wife are forced to pose as a happily married couple while spending the holidays with their relatives, when both decide that they're unable to tell their families about their rec...
A lot of people say that marriage is a beautiful thing; a sacred union of two souls. But what they don't tell you is that marriage is merely a way of legally recognizing you and your significant other's relationship. Why should a civil or religious ceremony be the deciding factor on whether or not two people live together as sexual and domestic partners? Why is it that when two immensely capable adults decide to live out their lives together, the rest of the world only sees fit to join them together formally in wedlock?
Wedlock-doesn't just the very word itself sound unbelievably insufferable? As a matter of fact, in wrestling a 'lock' is known as a hold in which one wrestler twists or puts pressure on part of the other wrestler's body. Do you see where I'm going with this? I just wish I would have realized all of this, before I got married; three and a half years ago.
I was born in London, England. My mother, Susan Thomas was a prominent British actress who married the renowned Swaziland-born English author, Roger Thomas. I'm sure that at some point in time the two had genuinely loved one another, but by the time my eighth birthday had come around, any soft-hearted feelings the two had shared had all but diminished. Though their time together produced two children, myself and my younger brother Mark, their time apart brought to light an entirely new individual: Mark and I's Australian stepmother, Dory.
Although I would love nothing more than to tell you that my childhood memories consist of nothing but happy, healthy recollections, I'm afraid I cannot; seeing as though in all actuality, they do not. When I finished my college A-levels I wanted nothing more than to read English at a university far, far away from London. And with that, I somehow ended up across the pond at San Francisco University.
It was there that I met, the man that would later become to be known as: my husband, John Harrigan. John had been at SFU studying art. We had had a few of the same basic courses together and had become friendly. Our time together at SFU had lead to our friendship, which had then further led us to love. Following our time at university, we had begun living our post-grad years together; as a mature, adult couple. John would cook the meals, and I'd clean up the kitchen. I would do the laundry, and he would put it away. To me, John and I were perfectly happy with the direction our life was going in, but that all changed the year I turned twenty-five.
"Caitlin," John said, one night as I was unloading the dishwasher. "Do you think it'll ever happen for us?"
"You know marriage."
"Why? What's wrong with the way things are now?"
"Nothing, but I just think that since we both know the direction we want our lives to go in, why not?"
And it was at that very moment that I suddenly drew a blank. I couldn't think of one significant reason why he was wrong; not a single counter thought entered my mind. After all, I wasn't just in love with John; I loved him. Around John I was able to experience enjoyment that I had never before experienced. Whenever I was with him I felt this sort of incredibly intense, positive emotional feeling that I didn't feel with anyone, but him. I mean it wasn't as if I were a silly eleven year-old with a schoolgirl crush or infatuation. I loved John. I truly, wholeheartedly loved him. And so with that I agreed.
Three and a half years later, here we are. Me-Mrs. Caitlin Harrigan; the modest writer, who seems to attract nothing but rejections and John, my incredibly successful illustrator husband. Unfortunately, for the past six weeks we have been living apart. Me at my friend, Andrew's apartment and John in our newly furnished, post-wedding home. I don't know why I ever thought that things could stay the same between us, once we were married.