The census taker stood at the door, clipboard ready.
“Sir, are you married or happy?” he asked George.
George froze. His brain stalled like an old lawnmower.
“Uh… well, I’m married and I’m—”
From upstairs, Martha’s voice thundered: “Careful how you answer that!”
George panicked, stepped back, and tumbled down the stairs in slow motion.
Flat on the floor, he groaned, “Married…”
The census taker raised an eyebrow. “Should I write ‘married but not happy’?”
Martha appeared at the top of the stairs, arms crossed like a drill sergeant.
“You better write married AND happy—or I’ll make sure he falls again!”
George sighed. “Put down married, happy, and slightly bruised.”
The census taker jotted a note: Status—married beyond repair.
