A compendium of love-facts.

As I sit in my exquisite giraffe-leather couch, sipping on single malt of such a primordial vintage that language hadn't yet been invented, I am gripped by distress so fundamental to my being that it is a wonder I am able to suppress it to any degree. Allow me to elaborate.

Life isn't easy. Allow me to elaborate further. I was born with a crippling affliction. I was born a healthy white male. Consequently, life has been intrinsically more difficult for me relative to, say, a transsexual amputee minority practising Satanism. (Excuse my tangible envy for such an affable lifestyle.) 

I digress, the hardships in my life are intractable; the societal pressures laid upon me, unyielding. Allow me to share some of the struggles I endure ceaselessly. 

• Do I wear a beard or maintain an immaculately shorn facial state?
• Is it only gay if the balls touch?
• Am I really, statistically, among the worst drivers on the road?
• Must I seriously wear my collar popped to maintain a state of social acceptance?
• Should I maintain a healthy romantic relationship?
• Would I like fries with that? 
• ..and much more!

Keen readers sympathetic to the strife of the young white male will immediately recognize what is inarguably the most distressing challenge in the preceding list. I speak of course, of the imposing nature of relationship status in a young man's life. Evidence cromulently embiggens us everywhere we look; it is a relentless assault on our senses:

Diamond commercials stress the directly proportional correlation between love and consumerism.

Movies and TV subsist almost exclusively on love stories.

Whiny, entitled top40 artists moan incessantly about love. (Is it any coincidence that a vast majority of them are young, white males?)

I could go on, but I shan't skylark about all day. I will get to the beef and potatoes; I am here to shatter the paradigm of love and relationships. I will dig deep and investigate the principles of being in a relationship, and superimpose on it my findings of those for being single. I will include an insightful epilogue of my journey, but ultimately leave discretion of my analysis to my faithful readers.

The Utterly Objective Benefits of Sustaining a Relationship

• Unmitigated access to a sentient organism capable of scratching your itchy back; followed by application of a soothing lotion as a preventative measure.
• The security of having a rock-solid alibi in the event you decide to commit murder, stipulated by the condition that you did last night's dishes by the time you left for work this morning. Did you?
• Monthly financial savings equalling roughly $2,385.00 as the necessity of keeping a prostitute on retainer becomes obsolete.
• Comfort accommodated by the obligation of a human, possessing the corresponding reproductive equipment to yours, to laugh at your uninspired and frankly obnoxious jokes.
  Corollary: The very same person is also implored to feign interest in your purposeless, ineffectual life and STILL have sex with you anyways.
• Consolation that you'll never need to worry about a potential future of living as a vegetable on life support, because you just know she'll advocate euthanasia in this instance. Can you blame her? That insurance policy is looking juicier than ever.

That sounds great, why would I want to be single? I'm practically sold.

Slow down, you slobby tiger. Let's investigate the practical benefits of being single.

• You answer to no one. You are the master of your domain. If your back itches, your vagina probably does too, Sally. Suck it up.
• You don't have to worry about being investigated for murder, because the only person who could possibly drive you to kill is a significant other.
• Money doesn't travel with you when you die. If it doesn't exist solely to spend, then what is doing existing at all?
• You pay that premium for a reason. You think that kind of cheddar doesn't afford you some convincing laughs on top of business?
• Life support isn't so bad; after all, you've spent your life getting screwed by The Man and all of your peers, might as well take the opportunity to dispense some retribution. Nothing spells justice like riding the taxpayer's coin while rotting away in front of soap operas with bad reception.

As you can see, the single life is a worthy contender in this philosophical dispute of the heart. The way I look at it, is until you manage to find a lady who you are willing to compromise your life's ambitions for, and who in turn is willing to settle for a lazy idiot with a poor attitude like you, I don't see any immediate urgency to settle down. Life's short, but not too short that you couldn't benefit from wandering through it on your own for a while. Don't force it and you'll be a lot happier in the end. 

A consequent dilemma of the matter is whether or not you've found a suitable potential mate. I've compiled a short checklist that you can consult in the event you find yourself in an ambiguous romantic stalemate. I've given it an applicable and altogether original title:

She's Just Not That In To You If...

• You caress her neck gently and find no evidence of a pulse.
• You are caught rummaging through her delicates-drawer after a grievous miscalculation in the schedule of your love interest after months of surreptitious "romantic observation" hidden the bushes outside her apartment.
• You are fat and/or ugly. Sometimes these things just aren't subjective.
• The only way you can get her attention is to cut her brake lines and swoop in as the heroic saviour after a devastating car crash leaves her paralysed and unable to reject your tender advances.
• You find yourself caught in a temporal anomaly wherein the evolution of humanity took a drastically different direction, and your reproductive organs are no longer fundamentally compatible with hers.

Happy hunting, lovebirds!