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living room couch without changing his clothes.
    At 9:23 a.m.—Michael checked his watch twice since he felt it was way too early to get up—he heard Karen fiddle with her spare key in the front lock, which had a slight imperfection. “Hold on a sec!” he called out groggily and got up to open the door for her.
    It’s only when Karen’s eyes moved over him disapprovingly that he realized he was still wearing the previous day’s outfit. “I was wasted last night,” he said by way of explanation.
    â€œYou mean this morning? Did you enjoy the stripper?” Karen inquired matter-of-factly, but her lips pursed into a tense smile.
    â€œShe was alright,” Michael shrugged, knowing better than to elaborate.
    â€œWas she pretty?” In spite of her best efforts to be cool about it, Karen felt a knot of jealousy constricting her throat.
    Michael’s policy had always been to mix a grain of truth with the lies, so that she couldn’t tell the difference. But this time he saw no harm in answering Karen’s question quite honestly: “Actually, as far as strippers go, she wasn’t too shabby,” he replied as he stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.
    Karen heard a light tinkle, followed by a vigorous flush. He can’t even close the door like a civilized human being! she muttered to herself. Although she realized that bachelor parties were a culturally accepted institution, she had little patience with this sleazy ritual right before a man enters into a so-called monogamous marriage. What kind of training for monogamy was that anyway? To distract herself from her mounting indignation, Karen began cleaning Michael’s apartment. She collected the socks and shirts scattered on the floor and lined up his shoes neat and parallel by the front door. “We’re still on the same wavelength about the justice of the peace thing, right?” she double-checked. She certainly didn’t want Michael having another bachelor party with his buddies, all of whom she considered big-time losers and hard-core womanizers. If not having her fiancé fool around with strippers before their wedding day implied foregoing the fairytale wedding she had dreamed about ever since she began collecting Bride Magazine at the age of twelve, then so be it.
    â€œSure thing!” Michael called out from the bathroom. “Why? Are you having second thoughts about it?” Karen didn’t reply, so he began to wonder if she had gotten it into her head to have the big wedding she originally wanted. He had worked hard to persuade his fiancée that an elaborate reception would be expensive. Worse yet, it would require spending time with each other’s families, something both of them preferred to avoid. “We wouldn’t have much time to plan the wedding anyway,” he said, washing his hands.
    When Michael stepped out of the bathroom, Karen had a strange look upon her face. She looks like a deer trapped in front of the headlights, he thought, noticing her frozen expression. “What the hell happened? Did you decide you want a huge wedding after all?” he asked with a chuckle, prepared to fight her tooth and nail.
    Karen shook her head.
    â€œDid your mother try to convince you that you’re missing out? You want to have a Catholic ceremony or something?” Michael pursued. What was it with women and big weddings anyways?
    â€œThere’s not going to be any wedding,” Karen announced quietly, barely moving her lips.
    Although evidently his fiancée wasn’t too thrilled about their minimalist wedding, Michael relaxed. At least his desires had—for once—triumphed over her mother’s. He approached Karen to embrace her with gratitude, perhaps even a little more, if he felt so inspired.
    â€œPlease don’t come near me,” she said, extending her arm out like a stop sign.
    â€œWhy are you so upset?” he