Aubergine St. Valentine, the Queen of Romance, has a problem courtesy of Las Vegas, the Spirit of Elvis, a drive thru wedding chapel, and a momentary weakness of will. A husband. A these kind of dreams don't happen to me handsome enigmatic husband.

Once a man acquires a wife, unlike the wife, of course, he can revert back to his caveman ancestors. Get fat, lounge on the couch for hours watching sports, spit, make obnoxious noises and fumes, basically revert to the frog he is and still think he's the handsome prince he once impersonated. Added to that he loses the tiny bit of anxiety that keeps a prince on his toes and makes him ready to fulfill his princess' every wish and command.

Her prince hadn't yet turned into Slob Boy, but the day would come. As men age they are deemed more handsome, as women age they turn into the witch-bitch that resembles the rest of their female line. The solution? Reverse time. Divorce was the tool.

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