In this modern workaday world of ours marriages have changed a hell of a lot since their conception in the olden days. Back then it was all about contractual obligations and how many oxen you could wring out of a prospective bridegroom’s family in exchange for your daughter’s hand. Then the practice evolved into being something or other to do with love. The idealised version of it of course which led to a soaring divorce rate (if it doesn’t last until one or other of you is dead then what the hell was the point in shelling out quite so much on the damn cake?
So now, rather than picking out a perfect partner for life or selecting desirable genes to pass onto your potential offspring (and to be honest, if they have decent jeans representing a vaguely sensible dress sense that can’t exactly hurt either), you’ll have rather a lot of other things to worry about. You’ve got a hell of a lot of other factors to worry about.
What happens when you get old and grey and in sudden need of a vital organ? Will the person you’ve shackled yourself to for the rest of your existence be a good enough match to offer up theirs so you can go on living? Is the person in question sufficiently entertaining to keep you diverted once the children have disappeared off to university and you find yourselves confronted with many more hours to get through stretching off towards the horizon of a blissful death?
With all this in mind, a girl has to consider her own biological and social limitations. Who’s going to want her after all that time spent scaling the corporate ladder has left her with a shrivelled womb and withered ovaries? In a way, it was all so much simpler way back when as your parents sorted it all out for you and your other half was more than likely to be carried off by the next bout of plague so it didn’t matter all that much if you couldn’t stand another moment of their odious company. So, in answer to your question, go ahead and marry your hypnotist as long as you can make certain his pancreas is in good working order.
Song choices courtesy of: Train, Emmy the Great and Weird Al Yankovic