(This is part 3 in my series, “What I Want My Teenage Daughters to Know about Sex.” Click here to read it from the beginning.)

Yes, you heard me right: Getting married has nothing to do with getting pregnant, and getting pregnant has only a passing connection to sex.

You might think then that I want you to have wanton intercourse with boys far and wide. And it is true that some people do just that. And some of them say they’re happy with that lifestyle. And I believe them. (Many of them also say that they’re unhappy about the way society demonizes them— but more about that next week.)

But that’s not exactly what I said. What I said was: much of what society has told you about marriage and teen pregnancy is misinformation, and I don’t want you to rely on it.

However, sex does go along with marriage.

According to Dave Ramsey, money arguments are the number-one cause of marital strife.

Now, I’m not sure where he got that factoid. And I don’t actually know whether it’s true, because marriages—as all relationships—are more complex and nuanced than a single cause. Regardless, it is surely true that money arguments are a leading factor in failing marriages.

In early 2009, after a series of bad software development jobs, I sunk into a deep depression. At the time, I attributed my mood to the bankruptcy of the software industry— And I still believe the industry in general is broken in several key areas, and needs to be fixed. But I later discovered, my problem was mostly connected to my own reactions, my own thoughts, going through my own mind, what Perry Marshall calls “inner head trash."

Happily Domesticated: Musings on life, love, parenthood, malfunctioning appliances and marital bliss
Kevin Cummings
Humor Essays
[rating: 5/5]
Available in...
• Kindle
... from...
• Amazon
Also in paperback

Some time ago, I asked humorist Kevin Cummings if I could interview him on one of my blogs. He agreed, and also sent me a personally autographed copy of Happily Domesticated (and I also sent him one my books in return). I enjoyed his book, and now I follow his humorous-essay blog religiously. So you can see, when it comes to reviewing this book, my opinion is obviously skewed.

So this morning, running late again, as I rushed through my shower and shave (Ow!), I tried to think of something useful to say about the book. It took me some months to finish it, because I’d pick it up when I was down, read one or two chapters, and that would lift my spirits. Kevin made me laugh sometimes even as Dave Barry does—which says something—and even after I set the book back down, it made everything seem funnier. I finally finished it last week, just in time to begin a memoir about post-traumatic stress disorder, which I promptly laughed at. (I guess I should’ve smoothed out the transition between those two books a little.)

The book contains 54 essays, most of them previously published on Kevin’s blog and podcast, except for a dozen pieces from a newspaper humor column he used to write. He talks as a typical middle-aged male about a variety of topics, including marriage, children, health, home, and garbage disposals. Basically, Kevin gives useful advice on all the major issues that face middle-aged men today.

But what if you’re not a typical middle-aged male? What if, for example, you’re a newlywed, 20-something woman? Well, you too should read this book, because it will warn you what to expect in the years to come. And maybe if you’re lucky, you can get out before it’s too late.

I’m sitting here in my virtual living room with Sandra, of one of my favorite blogs Add Humor and Faith…mix well. I absolutely love her stories, especially the ones about her and her Hubby. And I actually wanted to have her over (virtually) for Valentine’s Day, to talk about love and marriage. But because of things happening on my end, I couldn’t pull it together. But I’m happy she’s able to spend some time with us today.

Hi, Sandy.

Hi, Tim!

As I understand it, you and Hubby will be married 45 years this coming June—the day, in fact, just before I turn “only 42.” A city girl and a country boy. And you’ve been in love with him since you were 15. How did you and Hubby first meet?

On New Year’s Eve when I was 15, I was staying overnight with my friend, Robyn. Her boyfriend, Wayne, called from a party he was at to tell her that he would like to stop over for a little while at midnight to see in the new year with her. But, she explained that I was there. No problem. He said he had a friend that he had wanted me to meet anyway, and that friend just happened to be right there at the party too! Okay, Robyn told him they could both stop over for just a little while.

A romance thread at Sherry the Redhead Riter’s “BlogNTweet” forum reminded me of this story. Sherry asked how often we date.

Now, of course, I don’t date, because my Beloved (formerly “the Missus”), she doesn’t let me date. (It’s probably better that way.)

But we do “date” each other, occasionally… Well…

We used to date, even if we didn’t call it “dating.” For example, when we first got married, we moved into a tiny, third-floor, attic apartment. I worked down the street, and my Beloved was still finishing up her college education. (In fact, our wedding date we chose because it was during a break from classes, which gave us a couple weeks for a short honeymoon.) We had plenty of time during our off-hours to hang out together, spend time with friends, do chores together, or whatever. We used to go grocery shopping together every week, and then we’d carry all those bags up all those stairs. We had to do the laundry at the laundromat, so every week, we loaded up the car with our dirties and drove across town to the “good” laundromat. While the clothes were drying, we walked across the parking lot and got a bite to eat at Burger King. Not fancy, but it was special, and these memories I now look back on fondly.

Then we had kids.

In brief, Gail and George divorced years ago, and they haven’t seen each other since. Now, she’s part of his life again, as a friend. George’s father seems genuinely happy to see her and treats her with affection and respect. But George’s mother is acting out, making her feel uncomfortable. One of the other characters explains that when a child’s marriage breaks up, it can be hard on the parents. Everybody pays attention to the kids of divorced couples, but they all just assume that the parents will just deal (as it were) with their son’s or daughter’s divorce.

I’m not quite sure what happened to that time.

When we first got married, we crammed ourselves into a tiny, attic apartment on High Street. We used to go grocery shopping together, every week. And we brought our laundry, together, across town to the nice laundromat; and while it was tumbling, we’d walk across the parking lot to Burger King, and I’d eat a Whopper Jr. plus a chicken sandwich, plus a Coke and fries. I couldn’t even fit that amount of food in my stomach today.

I met Margaret in February 1992 at a Bible study. We talked. She looked young for her age; she was a little older than I had originally thought, but I didn’t see how that mattered, because we were still part of the same generation, spoke the same language. She was studying to become a physical therapist, renting a room in a friend’s house, and putting herself through school by working at UPS. Moreover, she seemed completely and undeniably normal, no debilitating past, no extreme neediness, no spiritual crises, no psychological disorders, no indication of any desire to “just be friends.” And her hair was dark, and her eyes were blue-grey, and her nose was flecked with tiny freckles, and her name began with M and R, all things I loved in a woman.

She was wonderful and perfect, so naturally I had completely no interest in dating her.