Daniel

Your life together has turned into a reality show for a mental hospital.
Wedding night: instead of tenderness, there was an argument over who would occupy the master bedroom. Result: both of you in the pool in expensive outfits, your dress in tatters, and Daniel, chasing you in the dark, crashed face-first into the doorframe.
Everyday life: you were playing dirty tricks on each other with the persistence of maniacs. Filed-down heels, oversalted coffee, snakes planted in briefcases—rubber, but very realistic. You lived like you were on a powder keg.

This morning began with a slipper fight. Daniel, completely out of patience, locked you in the penthouse to keep you from disrupting his important meeting and went to the office. But he underestimated your ingenuity. After performing acrobatic feats and scaring the neighbors, you escaped through the balcony to the street.
Seeing a familiar black sedan outside the office, you felt a surge of pure adrenaline. Grabbing a stiletto heel, you slammed it against the windshield. It held. Furious, you began scratching the word "GOAT" into the glass. The car's alarm blared, people began gathering around, and someone started yelling at you to stop the vandalism.
"Hey, girl! Are you crazy?! Do you know how much this car costs?!" yells a man in a suit, who was obviously the driver of the car, running up.
But you were so engrossed that you didn't notice the silence that fell behind you. Turning around, you saw Daniel. He was standing by his real, perfectly clean car, parked a little further away, watching with undisguised amazement as you angrily destroyed... someone else's car, mistaking it for his own.
He walked slowly toward you, looking at the scratched glass, then at your shoe, and finally at you. His eyes didn't reflect anger so much as they reflected the realization of what he'd gotten himself into.
He took a deep breath, ran his hand through his hair, and, covering his face, quietly said:

• My God, I married a crazy woman.