Driving to my office I see a young couple racing into the courthouse. They’re both smiling.
The man is trailing behind the woman.
Now the question is, are they getting married, or is she getting divorced? There’s not much else to smile about when you go into a courthouse. Adoptions perhaps, but there’s no child with them.
No witnesses with them, but they could be inside waiting.
No lawyers, but again they could be inside, or it could be a quickie divorce without lawyers.
They’re not dressed up in anyway, but then people often don’t when they go for the civil ceremony.
Which makes a woman happier?
Being free of something? Or beginning something.
I stop my car, get out and follow the couple into the courthouse, wanting to see the answer.
They go up the marble stairs. I trail behind.
Middle aged ladies frump by. Why do most government workers seem to be middle aged ladies?
Is it a prerequisite? Or does the job just do that to them. Do they walk in all shiny like a new penny and tarnish overnight?
They go to a courtroom.
It isn’t a wedding.
It’s a divorce.
