Scene: A countryside bus station. The husband, a mild-mannered man in his forties, steps up to the ticket counter. His wife, an elegant but imposing older woman in her sixties, enters the scene, commanding the space with her very presence. Her outfit screams “grand dame” rather than “honeymooner.”

Husband: (cheerfully) Hi, two adult singles to the city center, please.

Wife: (snapping her head around with hawk-like precision) What. Did. You. Say?

Husband: Uh… two adult singles?

Wife: (marching up to the counter, glaring at the clerk) Excuse me, young man, did you hear that?

Clerk: (confused) Yes, ma’am. Two single tickets—

Wife: (cutting him off, raising a gloved hand) Two singles. He just said it again. Right in front of me!

Clerk: (blinking) Yes… because that’s what they’re called.

Wife: (leaning over the counter dramatically) And what do they imply, hmm? That we’re gallivanting about as unattached individuals? Do I look single to you?

The clerk, now caught between terror and confusion, glances between the husband and wife. The husband gives a weak shrug.

Husband: (awkwardly) It’s… just a ticket, dear.

Wife: (spinning around, narrowing her eyes) Oh, is it? Just a ticket? Or is this the first crack in the foundation of our sacred vows? A subtle sign that you’re already reverting to bachelorhood?

Husband: (deadpan) Yes, Margaret. My evil plan is to announce my singleness through bus fare.

Wife: (gasps, clutching her pearls) You admit it!

Clerk: Uh… ma’am, I assure you, “single” is just a term for one-way travel—

Wife: (turning on him) And why, pray tell, is there no category for a happily married couple on this so-called “modern” transport system?

Clerk: (helplessly) I… I don’t think we’ve ever been asked that before.

Wife: (slamming her handbag on the counter) Then consider yourself asked! Fetch your manager, or find a pencil. I will not board that bus labeled a “single woman.” I have waited far too long for this marriage to let it be erased by bureaucracy!

The clerk, seeing no escape, retrieves a pencil and reluctantly adjusts the tickets. He crosses out “single” and, with exaggerated care, writes “MARRIED” above it.

Clerk: (handing over the tickets) There. Two adult… married individuals.

Wife: (snatching them) Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? (to the husband) See, darling? That’s all I wanted. A little respect.

Husband: (sighing) Of course, dear. Shall I carry your bag to the bus as well, or would you like me to engrave “Happily Married” on my forehead?

Wife: (ignoring him) Onward, to our honeymoon destination!

As the couple walks off, the clerk leans back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Another customer steps up to the counter.

Customer: (gesturing after them) Were those two on their honeymoon?

Clerk: (sighing) Apparently. Love works in mysterious ways.

Curtain falls