When I was growing up, I never imagined I’d end up a married person; frankly, I thought that by now, I’d either have died a tragically beautiful, Fantine-from-Les-Miz-type death, or be a millionaire due to inventing some kind of spreadable chocolate. But life doesn’t always go the way you plan — as it turns out, someone else had already invented Nutella, and at 33, I am alive and on the verge of making it legal with my long-time boyfriend. Our decision to get married was hardly sentimental — after years of unwedded bliss, we became concerned about not having the legal right to make end-of-life decisions for each other. I know, it’s basically The Notebook, aren’t you jealous? But it’s what we wanted —which is probably why the only marital tradition that I’m 100 percent behind is getting a prenup.
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