Some months ago, I mentioned in a meme on my writing blog that every Monday morning when I was hauling my garbage up the hill behind my house in the dark, I wished that I was married. I hated to be that mercenary, but there it was. When I was married, I never had to drag a fifty pound garbage can up a snow-slick hill at 6:00 a.m.
Turns out taking the garbage out at 7:30 a.m. after eight hours of sleep is a whole different ballgame. Not my favorite thing to do, but wholly manageable. Certainly nothing to get married over.