But then there’s this issue with Leslie. Ever since Leslie got engaged to geeky pocket cutie Ben, things have been weird, y’all. The wedding, per sitcom norm, has taken up a lot of story time and space. On one level that makes me sad because it’s so cliché. Weddings, babies, the addition of a dog, or a cousin Oliver, all seem to mark the death of a show as we once knew it. There’s a sense that when these narratives pop up that maybe the show has run out of steam. I know that in terms of storytelling, this situation can be more complex. Perhaps romances, babies, dogs, and long lost cousins are parts of important stories and that’s why we see them cycled through so often on the television, but I for one, think that there also must be so much more unexplored TV territory and I was hoping my favorite show would go there, courageously and hilariously.

Personally, I’m not all that interested in Ben and Leslie’s romance. I like Ben. I’m glad she found a cool guy, but I’m definitely not gushing over their nuptials. The latest episodes have been particularly uncomfortable to me because they show Leslie barely capable of containing her love for Ben. We learn that getting married to her cute-butted, elflike lover is her dream come true. Spoiler alert, the couple even ties the knot 3 months early because she just can’t wait any longer to be his wife. Um, what? Again, I’m glad that Leslie’s in love or whatever, but when has marriage ever been a top priority for Ms. Knope? The Leslie I know has always wanted to be a strong, fair, and caring woman, an important politician who works for the people of her beloved town, if not the entire nation. Leslie’s dream come true, to me, would look something like President Knope (and maybe first gentleman Joe Biden) raising mini horses on the White House lawn. The Biden husband would be a nice extra, but the presidency and the mini horses would be a must.

So for Parks to get all sweet and saccharine on me, celebrating wuv, twoo wuv, and beyond that painting Leslie as so intensely eager for a typical marital union, without considering the political ramifications of what that union might mean. . . well, it’s a little shocking and disappointing. I know it’s not like we found out that Leslie is a serial killer or she secretly hates puppies, but this move just doesn’t match the tone or consistency of the show and character that I love.

Will marriage end up being more of a struggle now that the fun, pretty, and sugar-coated part is over? (The bachelor party episode did indeed remind us that almost every male character is divorced, after all). Will the old Leslie’s passion for politics return as though no sitcom narrative cliché ever occured? Or will this strange feminist show I love jump the Pawnee shark (raccoon?) and become a more typical network show? Time will tell, I guess.

Instead of titillating my inner romantic, Leslie and Ben making it official has left me mourning stories where it’s okay for women to want different things, want more, want something beyond or outside marriage. I’m left wishing the Hillary Clinton of the hilarious memes could send my gal Leslie a text, cuz, Giiiirrrrl, something’s up with your game.

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Ana Holguin writes PopHeart for The Idler.

Partnership.

When I spoke with Laura and Ben about what they wanted me to say today, that’s the one word that came up again and again.

And, as far as I’m concerned, we can’t talk about partnerships without talking about the best partnership in the history of the word:

Alan Trammell and Lou Whitaker.

For those of you who didn’t grow up in Michigan, obsessed with the Detroit Tigers, a little history:

Lou Whitaker and Alan Trammell played side by side for nineteen seasons.

They started out together at Double A Montgomery, where they first assumed the roles that would define them: Whitaker at second base, Trammell at short stop.

For nineteen seasons, one World Series Championship, seven Gold Gloves and eleven All-Star selections, they did together the same things Laura and Ben have, and will do together.

You anticipate your partner’s needs.

You cover their back when they make a mistake.

When they end up on their back, you offer your hand.

Now, we’re not here to talk about baseball — but we can learn a few things from Lou and Alan.

First, it’s all about WE.

“It’s the damndest thing,” Houk said. “You tell one of them something and he says, ‘We can do it.’ Like they’re a team.”

Second, you do the big stuff together — and you support each other.

In 1977 they roomed and played together at Montgomery in the Class AA Southern League. “We did everything together,” says Whitaker. “We didn’t have anybody else.” Says Trammell, “We comforted each other a little. If one of us had a bad night, the other one wouldn’t let it get him down. We sort of used each other as crutches, and we became pretty close.”

Whitaker hit .280. Trammell batted .291, broke Reggie Jackson’s league record for triples with 19 and was named league MVP. Brinkman, their manager, says, “They could’ve been co-MVPs that year.”

And last, you complement one another.

Being partners doesn’t mean being the same. Lou batted lefty, Alan from the right side.

And being partners means loving each other for your faults, not just your talents.

For all the gold gloves, Trammell was such a klutz that no one wanted to sit next to him at dinner — they’d end up covered in his spaghetti.

Lou, for all his natural athletic prowess, couldn’t lay off the junk food. That’s why they called him Sweet Lou.

Neither was perfect, but together, they were close.

To me, that’s what a good partnership is — you’re each pretty great on your own. That much, everyone here knows already.

But together, you’re better. Together, you’re champs.

Laura and Ben, as you being the next phase of your lives together, I can think of nothing more to wish for you than that you become co-MVPs; that you conquer the challenges of life the way Lou and Alan conquered the infield: together.