Welcome to the place relationship dreams go to die, also known as social media.
Psychoanalyst Erich Fromm wrote that mature love is “I need you because I love you.” Rather different from “I need you because I don’t want to be living in a packing crate when I’m 50.”
Nothing says “I want to make mad, passionate love to you” like a referral to a skilled and honest auto mechanic.
Ah, yes…your love is like a summer’s day — if a summer’s day chased its lemonade with two Red Bulls and a five-shot latte.
So what did he do before you moved in, just chain her to the radiator while he took a snooze?
Nothing says “I’m over you” like a Saturday night text blitz of hate and real estate.
Try to think of this as artisanal dating. Maybe he’s finished building the bed out of antique Popsicle sticks but his carpal tunnel kicked in while he was killing the flock of ducks for the mattress or spinning the cotton for the sheets.
I’m a 20-year-old woman, and for three months last year, I dated a 21-year-old guy. Suddenly, out of the blue, he stopped returning my calls.
Welcome to the decline of civilization playing out in a single garment. If a grown man who wears one of these things says something like “Let me slip into something more comfortable,” you’ve got to think, “What, the womb?”
Okay then. You’ll just be having a nice big scoop of “What Comes Around Goes Around.” Cup or cone? Nuts? Sprinkles?