As someone who got married far too young for his spouse’s or his own good: please, Casey Dick and the future Mrs. Dick: don’t do it yet. (Mrs. Dick: reason for pause alone there.)

Oh, sure the site’s cute and all, right down to the story of how they met and how the future Mrs. Dick’s “ear fetish” drew her irresistibly toward the Arkansas quarterback like some kind of fleshy wrinkled tractor beam.

…but don’t do it. You know about as much about yourself at 22 as you do about the nation of Namibia: it’s there, you’ve seen pictures of it and perhaps a few maps, and you imagine that it probably exists and has a few odd beasts in it. In your twenties, you’ll actually go to Nambia, and discover that it is full of beasts, has very few resources, and is mostly empty space. If you’re married, surprise! You get to share that disappointment with someone else discovering much the same thing at the same time, only with the omnipresent pressure of keeping the lights on simultaneously bearing down on you or, should you have a career crisis or mental breakdown of sorts, on your spouse.

(That is a statement made by someone who’s somehow still married to the person they married at a young age, a feat made possible through the patience and accomplishments of the author’s spouse, and most definitely not the author.)

So, to review: don’t get married before 25 at the least, kids. It’s dumb, even if you are second in the SEC in passing yardage.