03/01/2012 02:34 pm ET

How I Proposed Over Kentucky Fried Chicken, By Michael Ian Black

The idea of marriage begins, as every relationship idea does, with Martha. She is twenty-eight, around the age when women first begin contemplating their reproductive mortality. I am two years younger, around the age when men are not generally contemplating much of anything. It starts as a bit, a routine she and I do as a kind of verbal punctuation mark to any happy, shared experience. Like maybe we are walking back from one of our regular strolls down Third Avenue to Ben & Jerry’s. As we walk, she might take my hand and sigh and press her shoulder against me and say, “Will you marry me?”