I’m normally well into legal bureaucratic shiz. I genuinely can’t get enough of it. My fourth favourite thing to do, after reading, taking hot baths, and looking in the mirror, is filling in forms. Oh golly! Ink and heavy cartridge paper and the satisfaction of a good job well done. Just writing about it makes me go all gooey and start using the lexicon of the morally upright characters in Malory Towers.
Even better is when the form-filling needs to be done by hand, like the census. Oooh yeah. Taking a Parker pen (stationery buzz) pinching it between dextrous fingers; applying just enough pressure to form the letters authoritatively, but without tearing the page; watching the ink make pwetty, dancy shapes inside the formal boxes. It’s just like when we used to do handwriting class in primary school. The anticipation of that gold star always did make me go all tingly. Which is why ‘the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog’ is still my favourite sentence (if you’re ever thinking of wooing me, HOT TIP: whispering those words into my ear-hole, like an endearment, will almost certainly get you access to my bedroom and permission to fondle my soft, naked flesh).
It’s not just the physical sensuality of the process of official documentation that I enjoy. It’s the weight of it. That sense that with a few strokes of the mighty black pen (got to be black ink, doesn’t fade with age) I have contributed to the immortal trail of recorded facts from which historians will construct my biography in years to come.
This is why I have mixed feelings about the pre-nup: that contract a rich American partner will ask you to sign if you agree to marriage, but they don’t really trust you (or themselves), to make an actual lifetime go of it.
Clearly, it’s total affront to the institution of marriage, if you buy into that kind of thing, to expect anyone to sign a form relinquishing all rights to their future spouse’s money, property, assests and so on should they decide to divorce. Also, signing a pre-nup will make those historians conclude that you were a total pussy.
I mean, if you agree to marry a rich person their wealth is obviously going to be a lot of the reason why you said ‘yes’ to their proposal in the first place. Nobody ends up with a rich person by accident, or because of love alone. It’s always a toss up between the nice guy, and the guy with the nice flat on the Thames. Nine times out of 10, you’ll go for the latter. Rich people know this, especially the men. That is why they bother to make all that dirty cash. So they can have sex with all the beautiful ladies and one day marry one. No one needs, or even really wants, a private jet or a gold-plated car. These are just items that have replaced our primitive urge to pull down our underwear and flash our great big genitals at potential sex-mates (happily, there are still places where you can go if you’d rather see a prospective lover’s sex organs than his wallet before agreeing to date. I can give you some tips, if you’d like).
But what to do? Engaging in a pre-nup will no doubt involve a lot of form-filling, which as I’ve hopefully made clear, is a delectably erotic way to pass your time. If you’ve decided to marry a rich person for money alone – and I’m not advocating it – all the sensual ink spilling that the bureaucracy of a pre-nuptial agreement is bound to require will certainly serve as a fool-proof way of ensuring things don’t go to seed in the bedroom. Then again, if you’re marrying someone for money alone I would suggest it is unwise to sign away all rights to that money should you get bored of their tedious ways and wish to leave them at some point in the future. As ever, relationships present a double-edged sword.
For me, the temptation is bound to be too much should I meet a rich capitalist cad who wants me to engage in a pre-nup to secure betrothal. I’ll be forced to sign away my rights the moment a future lover gives me a pen and an official document to complete. So yes, I really better had not pair off until romance is inserted back into love, and all this delicious legal nonsense is left for matters of business and government, rather than those of the heart.