Once in a while it's good to whip out Auden's cheerfully misanthropic book of aphorisms:
Forty years of romance make a woman look like a ruin and forty years of marriage make her look like a public building.
So heavy is the chain of wedlock that it needs two to carry it, and sometimes three.
The music at a wedding procession always reminds me of the music of soldiers going into battle.
Marriage is the only adventure open to the cowardly.
That sudden and ill-timed love affair may be compared to this: you take boys somewhere for a walk; the walk is jolly and interesting-and suddenly one of them gorges himself with oil paint.