Is marriage the new death penalty?

As I relax and unwind after a day of hard insignificant work, I await my mates return from work. I hear his rumbling in the other room and get excited. He enters the bedroom to moan and complain about the only day that matters, his. He then retires in front of the T.V. to reassert himself in his standing couch potato role. After a while, he decides that it may be time to spend a little quiet time with me (isn't that wonderful). In all of 30 seconds he assesses that I am still alive, have no internal injuries, or broken bones, so I still have the ability to feed his overly round midsection. Therefore, I am still of use to him. He is pleased.

At this time, I contemplate if hell is indeed on Earth. I have morphed into coupledom and have lost my single girl zest for life. I have forsaked my Diva attitude to compromise with a Neanderthal. He clubbed me from behind and branded his marking on my finger. I am no longer free. My only solace is in the belief that maybe one day he will slip and fall and become uncharacteristically romantic. I pray for amnesia.