People my age are getting married. MARRIED! At 22, 23 24!
They say living expenses have gone up so much that they can’t afford to pay separate rents or transport costs etc.
(living together is not an option for them as most of them come from so-called “bhadro” Bangali families who refuse to acknowledge the fact that their kids have an active libido, have dirty dreams at night and would like to check if they are sexually compatible with their partners before getting hitched. As for the kids, there’s this invisible umbilical cord that ties them to their mommies hundred miles away and keeps them from doing what they want lest mommies disapprove. That’s okay with me. But when the same people complain that their mommies are not letting them grow up, that is not okay with me.)
Yeah so, people are getting married. People my age. And here I am still wondering whether I have radioactive spiders in my room and the like.
I love him. Like something more than heartbreakingly insane.
But I know I wouldn’t marry a hot, brooding, billionaire masked vigilante, even if he asks for my hand in marriage and goes to the extent of committing the cardinal sin (in his case, killing a human soul) to convince me. (He won’t him. I know him too well. And I digress. ). At least not now. Right now I am happy. And I want to be left in peace while I search for those radioactive spiders.