This was partially based off of a segment of a play called "Hold Me!" that I performed with other members of my high school class, and it really struck me. I like it a lot.

All the marriages I know have cracked up. They ended in cheating, lies, divorce, unfulfilled promises, and unexpected turns. Irreconcilable differences, shared custody, child support, and disputed pre-nuptial agreements. They're all my age, and they all got married around the same time I did. Similar dresses, the same rented tuxes, and the same recycled bridal magazines. So why is mine a success? I think I know. Because Happy Hogan is not Tony Stark.

Happy doesn't need me to chase women out of his bed, make him breakfast (and lunch and dinner), get his coffee, or run his life. He doesn't fly off to Afghanistan unexpectedly, I always know where he is, and I don't have to worry about his sorry ass making it home in one piece. He doesn't go running around in a metal suit while I'm stuck with the responsibilities he's supposed to be doing. Happy is simple. He smiles when I make him breakfast, he cleans up after himself, and looks at me like I'm the only one that matters – even in a room of celebrities and heads of state. He appreciates me for being me. He indulges my hobbies and makes me feel like a goddess.

Tony needs me for all of those things. To him, I am simultaneously a Blackberry, a nurse, a broom, a mother, a sister, a babysitter, a crush, a secretary, a victim, and a friend. He doesn't need me for me – he needs me for the things I do. For the way I make his coffee, organize his files, keep him on schedule, and keep his life in order. He doesn't need me for me. He doesn't need my Harvard MBA, my passion for travel and humor writing, or my fluency in French and German.

So why do I love Tony? Because it's the little things. The way that he recognizes my moods, goes to bed when I tell him to and doesn't drink when he knows I've had a rough week. The way he will pick up my feet and begin rubbing them when I abandon my shoes out of discomfort. The way that he lets me scream into his chest when things just aren't going right. He will respect my space and wishes at all times, and he makes time for movie night with just the two of us. We've seen each other at our best and worst moments, and we're better people for it.

But Tony can't put aside the suit. He can't put aside what he thinks is his responsibility. And because of that, I come in second. Love or not – I'm still stuck cleaning up his messes and his injuries. I play the Moneypenny to his James Bond, and that's something I'll never have to be to Happy.

So why does it seem like my marriage is the only one that isn't crashing and burning? Maybe it's because I don't love Happy.

I guess there's something to be said for settling for second best.

Interesting? Cynical? Let me know.