Yield! In The Name Of Love

I was looking back at some of the old photos of my wife and I back when we were dating. I am so lucky that she was somehow able to fall in love with the chubby, pasty, goofy-looking kid I used to be. Now I'm a chubby, pasty, goofy-looking adult and I'm...distinguished. That's a good word for it. There was a time when my wife and her best friend both agreed (until I found out about it), that my head looked like 'Yield' sign. Ahh, memories.

I feel that my wife saved me from a lot of fates. There was that whole worry that my Yield-sign looks might not exactly be a chick magnet. I used to live in constant fear that I would end up as a Forever Alone meme. I imagined that my life would consist of living and dying in a cubicle, turning into Gollum for want of human contact. My wife made me realize I didn't have to suffer the dating scene, I didn't have to work a job in a cubicle, I didn't have to worry about never finding a 'precious,' and if my head is a Yield sign: I was her Yield sign.

And I didn't have to worry about getting bored with my wife. Her mind was as exciting or more than any other part of her, which turned out to be what I wanted more than anything. She kept me from a fate worse than death: stagnation. What if I had found a wife in my cubicle-hell nightmare, and she turned out to be boring? Oh my god, I would kill myself. Well, I probably wouldn't kill myself, but the boredom would probably do the job for me. I'd have to take up some weird hobby like arson or weasel-stomping or graffiti'ing mustaches on billboards. I wonder why I picked those hobbies. They just came to me. And they range from misdemeanor to felony. At least for now, while I'm grieving, I'm rarely bored. Often, it's much worse than 'bored' but that's OK. Crippling sadness and rage at nothing are fine, but boredom kills. Which is true, I read it on the Internet.