La ingravidez de 25

When I was 25: I got married for the //first// time. I wore a vestido blanco, served roast beef au jus at the reception and danced to "Daddy's Little Girl" con mi papá. But four years later, I looked at my sleeping husband (the old fart) una mañana (hung-over) and realized he was no longer el hombre que I-I-I had vowed to cherish (the bastard). He had become unkind, critical and selfish son of a bitch asshole. (Or had he always been that way? HA-HA-HA) I hadn't fared much better. I-I-I was a screaming, cursing, gritando-llorando---. Ruminating on my disastrous marriage, pensé, What the fuck was I thinking?