4 Things I didn't know about marriage until it was too late.
By PR Chick
Seven years ago I was a hopeless romantic, intoxicated by love and its many wonders. I got married and lived happily for a month or two, blissfully unaware of what most married couples have managed to keep a secret: Getting married is like getting drunk ­ it’s fun while you’re doing it, but the next day you have a headache and feel bloated.

There is more than one way to fold a towel.
The towel argument is a frequent one in our house, partly because I have an obsessive personality, but more importantly because my husband is an idiot. If I was more computer-savvy, I would design a diagram to demonstrate the correct way to fold a towel. For now you will just have to take my word for it that my way is the right way. Old habits die hard, and when they collide with your spouse’s old habits, they die an especially slow and excruciating death. I’m not just talking towels here, either ­ it can be sorting laundry (no, pink is not considered a “white”) or making the bed (pillows on top of the comforter!) or changing the toilet paper roll (it should come down from the top, you moron!).

It is impossible to keep bodily functions hidden forever.
When my husband and I first started dating, I blushed if someone made a gas joke on TV. When we moved in together, I turned on the water in the bathroom so he couldn’t hear me pee. If I had to pass gas I would leave the room ­ and for someone who enjoys her broccoli, chewing gum and black beans, that meant leaving the room at least 10 times an hour. Eventually, though, I grew tired of hiding. First, I burped ­ and was encouraged when he didn’t file for divorce the next day. A couple years (yes, years) later, I passed gas ­ and was again encouraged when he didn’t leave me. It was only recently that I learned he was no stranger to my gas. Supposedly our nights together have always been a veritable symphony of my flatulence ­ he just didn’t have the heart to tell me.
Considerate, isn’t he?

Men can’t keep secrets.
We women have the reputation of sharing every intimate detail of our lives with friends. Men, however, have their moments. I found this out in a most embarrassing fashion, during a family picnic with the in-laws. Remember the night-time symphony I mentioned earlier? Well now you can discuss it at length with my father-in-law, who after hearing about it from my husband, thought it would be absolutely freakin’ HYSTERICAL to reveal to everyone after we had all eaten some pork and beans. I seriously considered divorcing my husband for breaking my trust this way, but instead I just avoid the in-laws.

There is no such thing as a happy ending.
In the movies, main characters make mistakes, break up, get back together and live happily ever after. It happens like that in real life, too ... Except for the happily ever after part. In my marriage, mistakes are NEVER forgotten. Let’s say, for example, that I slept with my husband’s best friend. I know what you’re thinking ­ What’s the big deal? ­ but for some reason this annoyed my husband, who takes every argument as an opportunity to bring it up. “You don’t like how I fold the towels?! I bet (insert best friend’s name here) knows how to fold towels ­ why don’t you ask him after you f**k him again?”
Irrational, isn’t he?