That's one requirement. If you have chronic nymphomania without a clue or a care for a cure, you are definitely marriage material. 8 fingers is room to wear 8 husbands. Which the other 7 are better alternatives for you to turn to every time I blow up a stereo or wreck your rep with neighbors than a divorce attorney. I can always pretend to be jealous. But I can't pretend to bomb courthouses as a means to keep the superb taste in my internal palette that only a cookie like you can deliver.