… or, better yet, jumping the broom. A good friend* of mine recently got engaged, so I thought I’d spend a little time today passing along advice about being married. I’ve had tons of experience,** so I’m clearly qualified to hand out the words o’ wisdom.

Skippy’s Marital Advice:

And, I really, really mean it. So, take that advice to heart.

Wait. You wanted something sagacious? Something meaty, something you could stick a matrimonial fork into? Well, here’s the deal: I know nothing, except each day the Insta-Princess takes one of her dainty feet and kicks me in the direction she wants me to go. She has all these rules I gotta follow, and I must say—just between you and me—that some of them are pretty durn selfish. For example, I’m not allowed to date anymore. Not even first dates, where, statistically-speaking, chances of getting any are the lowest of any date, numbers 1- 10.

“You’re also not allowed to cheat,” she warned me. Oh, sure, take the fun out of it. I mean, if there’s anything I learned from Lifetime movies, it’s that men are supposed to cheat and otherwise be bastards. (True, I’m also supposed to be a doctor and drive a BMW, but I figured we were just reading from a different script.) I can’t cheat, I’m not even allowed to date, so I don’t know what else she can do to—

“The serial killing? Stop it. Stop it now. It’s embarrassing.”

What? Geez, now I can’t even have a hobby.

So, there you go, my pretty, betrothed friend. My advice to you is to not take away his hobby. That can really kill a relationship.