Marriage is like the paparazzi.

One minute you’re taking out the trash, the next you’re being asked who you said looked pretty.

Marriage is like the paparazzi.

20 minutes ago, you were eating a doughnut; now you’re being asked what that white powder is around your nose. 

Marriage is like the paparazzi.

One minute you’re unlocking the car, the next you’re being asked:

“What are you wearing tonight?”
“Where’d you get that belt?”
“Is that Prada?”
“That’s not your normal belt.”

Marriage is like the paparazzi.

One minute you’re bringing a cup to your lips, the next you’re being asked:

“What are you drinking?”
“Is there vodka in there?”
“How many of those did you have?”
“You swallowed that very fast… very fast!”

Marriage is like the paparazzi.

One minute you’re talking to your friends, the next you’re being photographed.

The picture gets posted to Instagram.
Your eyes are closed.
Your friends’ aren’t.
People are commenting on it.

Marriage is like the paparazzi.

One minute you’re looking at your phone, the next you’re being asked:

“Who you texting?” 
“What’d they want?”
“Why’d you laugh like that?”
“You don’t laugh that hard at my texts.”

Marriage is like the paparazzi.

One minute you’re shopping for shoes, the next you’re being asked:

“What do you think about Christina and Blair’s breakup?”
“Wait… you don’t remember Blair?”
“You said he looked like a man who washes apples before eating them.”

Marriage is like the paparazzi.

One minute you’re asleep, the next you’re being asked:
“Who were you dreaming about?”
“You smiled.”
“Don’t tell me it was nothing — I saw you smile.”

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