I have a confession. After spending the majority of my life deeming Valentine’s Day for suckers and championing all the single ladies, I have become a Smug Married.
Following this startling revelation, I got to thinking: how did I get here and why? Like all afflictions, there was a stage of denial. If I was a Smug Married, the single women in my life must have turned me into one. After all, I was the girl who had a two-year engagement and could count on one hand how many times I had used the word fiancé. I had spent the majority of my prime dating years as Single, Loud and Proud. And I looked down at women who only befriended the opposite sex, secretly labeling them women-haters. I was a girls’ girl—the friend you called for Sunday brunch, “E! Live from the Red Carpet” specials and the “Sex and the City” finale.
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