There are times, I have heard, in which every marriage gets strained; it’s not that the love isn’t there, it’s just that it’s hibernating a bit. Maybe it’s because one of you stopped shaving or the other one keeps forgetting to take out the trash. Maybe it’s kids or work or school or stress. But all marriages, as far as I can glean from having never been in one, go through brief cooling periods where you wonder why, exactly, you have married this person, where you start to mourn for your single days before looking around sadly at the other options and realizing that, for better or for worse, there’s no one you’d rather leg-shackle yourself to that the schmuck you’ve already chosen.
I’d been feeling that way about The Office lately. Our love started out so passionate and strong. We made each other laugh and cry, it comforted me in times of sorrow, and we stuck together come hell, high water, writer’s strikes, and the season of Jim Halpert’s poorly thought-out wig to cover up his shorter hair. But the passion had dimmed. Maybe it was because I was feeling down in the dumps myself, or maybe it was that The Office wasn’t supporting me in my time of need, but whatever the reason was, I started looking around.