It’s wild to me how many places in the world are off-limits to married folks. Not because of government restrictions, but because of jealous ones. I’ll tell a friend how much I loved Bangkok, how alive the streets were, how the food made me question every life decision that led me to eat bland rice back home, and before I can even finish my story, he’ll say, “Man, my wife would never let that happen.”

And I just sit there like… what?

Apparently, there’s a list of destinations stamped “too sexy for marriage.” Bangkok, Rio, Cartagena, Tulum, Amsterdam, Bali, Pattaya, Medellín, Havana, and—depending on who you ask—Vegas. If the city’s got a reputation for red lights, tight skirts, or too much rhythm, somebody’s spouse somewhere has decided it’s a threat to the union.

I’ll never understand it.

How do you end up in a relationship that limits your movement, your thoughts, your dreams, or your goals? You can’t convince me that’s love. That’s prison with better lighting. I reckon it’s a life people choose though. Some folks like boundaries tight enough to squeak.

But me? I go to these places for the food.

You can keep your assumptions. Give me the live squid, the arepas, the oxtail stew, the jerk chicken, the plantains fried to perfection, the crab omelets, and that street cart where someone’s grandma has been stirring the same pot of pho broth since 1983. Funny thing though. These cities that get side-eyed for their sex scenes always have the best damn food. It’s like there’s a direct pipeline from lust to flavor. Maybe it’s the passion. Maybe it’s the sweat. Maybe it’s just the freedom.

Think about it: strip clubs have the best wings. Don’t argue with me. It’s a fact. Something about a little chaos in the air makes the seasoning hit just right.

To the spouses who prohibit their partners from traveling: listen, if your partner wants sex, they don’t have to travel to get it. There’s a phone in their pocket right now that can deliver it faster than Uber Eats. So let them roam free. Let them wander through night markets and down narrow alleys that smell like lemongrass, piss, and possibility. Let them dance barefoot on a beach they can’t pronounce. You’d be surprised how much loyalty can thrive in someone who’s been allowed to breathe.

And to the ones who want to go to Bangkok but keep putting it off because “my partner wouldn’t understand:” GO. Your life is your life. Behave, if that’s one of the rules in your relationship. Don’t wreck your home for a weekend of pad thai and neon lights. But don’t shrink your world, either. There’s too much to taste, too much to see, too much life waiting beyond your front door.

Travel isn’t the problem. Insecurity is.

So the next time I tell you how good the food was in Amsterdam, or Bogota, or Jaco, don’t tell me your spouse wouldn’t let you. Tell me you’re saving up. Tell me you’re ready to eat. Tell me you’re ready to live.

Because, honestly, the world’s too big and too delicious to keep shrinking it for someone else’s fear.