I Don’t Care That My Boyfriend Is a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach—I Love Him, and We’re Getting Married

Listen, Dad, I know you’ve never been the biggest fan of John. But I brought the three of us to dinner because I have some news. And I KNOW you’re not going to like it, but here it is: John and I are getting married.

Okay, I have to say, I expected yelling, but the swatting at John while he scurried around the table in a fright was completely unnecessary.

I can’t believe how close-minded you’ve been throughout this whole thing. When I first brought him home to you and Mom, you didn’t even ask where he went to college—and he graduated from Tisch, Dad!!! Did you even CONSIDER the possibility that a cockroach might be college educated, let alone in the performing arts? On a full scholarship, no less? No. You just assumed that he spent his early twenties languishing around in a rotting log, leaf litter, or other miscellaneous forest detritus. It was really shallow of you, and—honestly?—a little classist.

I guess I can understand some of where you’re coming from. I know I confided in you last year when we were going through that rough patch. But literally every couple I know has had issues in the first few months of living together. I mean, how was I supposed to know that John prefers to sleep in the shower drain? And yeah, he’s usually up most of the night mixing beats and practicing his a cappella, but that’s just what artists do, Dad. You and Mom are always saying that marriage is a constant barrage of disappointments, hollow compromises, and insurmountable failures, so if this is the worst that John and I have been through, I’m confident we have a good life ahead of us.

For the record, I love that John is a cockroach. Did you know he’s the only insect that can hiss? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Not that you even care, but he has modified abdominal spiracles that make him sound like a vertebrate and give him a vibrato that his choir professor called “hauntingly asthmatic.” And yeah, communication was a little difficult at first, but now the only sound I want to hear first thing in the morning and last thing at night is John’s sexy wheezing noises in my ear. I’m not asking you to know everything about him, but the least you could do is feign some interest in his heritage.

John, don’t yell, babe. You need to save your voice for opening night of your one-roach-show, Madagascar, Metamorphosis, and Me.

Look, Dad, I know you wanted me to find some normie software engineer with a six-figure salary and plain ol’ human anatomy to settle down with. I know your generation is more traditional that way. And I’m sorry that John’s lifestyle is too “bohemian” for your tastes. But a same-species marriage with a dual income and a clear path to having normal, human babies is YOUR dream. Not mine.

Oh god, Dad, now look at what you’ve done. You’ve upset him. See? He’s skittering up the wall to hide in the air vents.

John! Come back! You dropped your ascot!

You know what, Dad, it doesn’t even matter. He actually already proposed to me. It was when we were on that trip to Vegas… Ugh, I TOLD you we were going to Vegas. It has the world’s largest active landfill, and John’s a bit of a garbagehead, which you’d KNOW if you spent any time getting to know him and his passions. So, yeah, we went to one of those seedy chapels.

You can protest all you want, but John and I are in this for the long haul.

Well, if that’s all you have to say, John and I are going to go. Not that you even offered the guest room, but I think John would be more comfortable staying at the Super 8 tonight anyways. I would invite you to the opening night of his show, but he’s already faced enough ridicule on his journey to the stage. I doubt he’d benefit from your criticism.

Sweetie!! Get down from there and get back into your motel. We’re leaving!