A belated introduction is in order. The resident writer is Zira of course, and her husband Cornelius (or more commonly known as A). They met on a planet not unlike this one; a year and a half later they were married à la treadmill fashion at the R of M, complete with tacky decorations, a clinicesque queue system, automated sliding doors, a stolid Justice of the Peace and set vows: Singapore’s efficiency at its best.
(The above is by no means a lament at the seemingly lacklustre unification of the two protagonists, but an honest appreciation for the considerably convenient process for which the government has provisioned, tailored specially for couples who simply want to get hitched. At a mere S$26 and with very few red tapes to cut through, getting married in Singapore is in fact one of the most fuss-free experiences one may enjoy!)
Alas, the couple’s dreams of “getting it over and done with” were short lived, and under the tremendous pressure of society’s hackneyed expectations of how a proper marriage should be ushered in, they now have to plan a
minimalist minimal w in under 128 days.
For all intents and purposes, Cornelius and Zira consider themselves married and thus refer to each other as husband and wife; they cringe when the ill-informed address them as fiancé/fiancée, or worse, boyfriend/girlfriend.