About three weeks into the experiment I asked her name.
Two days after she asked me for mine.
“Yeah. What did you think it was?”
“I’d hoped for an Evan.” She shrugged. “No sense worrying about it now.”
“I suppose not.”
We took turns cooking breakfast until we realized there would never be a consensus. She preferred fresh baked bagels, while I only ever wanted coffee. Our compromise left us to our own devices. Unfortunately, we didn’t learn many lessons from there.
We tried talking but only found out how little we had in common. Therefore, it seemed prudent, in order to keep our marriage intact, to speak to each other as little as possible. To that end we confined our conversations to minimalist descriptions and vague emotions. Better to leave the expansive concepts to the imagination where they might accidentally foster some appeal, rather than the realities neither of us cared to encounter.
Our bills felt thinner, and our respective paychecks fatter. Sometimes this is the one objective pro of living with a fellow income. Although, that isn’t to say we didn’t argue about money from time to time. It's only to point out our debates revolved around how to spend each other’s spare cash.
She mentioned children. I bought condoms.
I mentioned sex. She bought a vibrator.
Both of us started to get out of shape. After all, we had each other, but no one to impress. We kept trying to talk to one another more often. The only things we learned revolved around how little we cared for each other.
We started feeling lonely, so we decided to get a divorce. At least then we might find someone worthwhile out there. Even the possibility of randomly finding someone sounded better than nothing.