In this day and age of best selling self help books like “The Rules,” it seems like every sane, single woman is overloaded with information on how to score love. Let’s face it, “The Rules” ain’t workin’ – for anyone. Maybe it’s time to do the exact opposite of what they’re telling us. I’m not saying that we should walk around with a machete searching for Mr. Right. I’m just posing the specific question: “why the hell are we looking at all?” Is all this aerobicizing, teeth bleaching, contact lense wearing, fake tanning, super model loathing even worth it?
After a long succession of dating bass players, computer dorks, fly fishermen, home brewers and the chronically unemployed while strictly following “The Rules”, the Atkins diet, and chewing on Crest White Strips, I’m inclined to believe that something is rotten in the state of Datemark.. Is it me? Probably. But when the biggest things that men have to worry about in terms of impressing a female are penis size and inappropriate body hair; it’s clear that all of our ‘body’ work isn’t helping to even out the battle of the sexes. Crest White Strips do not an arsenal make. I don’t think the Israeli army is currently stockpiling Tai Bo videos. I, however, have five of them and no boyfriend in the foreseeable future.
Here’s what I think about life and men. Either it fits or it doesn’t. Either this is the right thing for you unequivocally, or it’s not. I know that this logic seems too facile – too black and white. I know that there are supposed to be some sort of proper rule that insures that we will not someday be eaten by cats. That’s not life. My grandmother was happily married to my grandfather for fifty-three years. Had we not intervened after my grandfather died, a cat named Avagadro would’ve eaten her spleen. If not dying alone is our only reason for seeking a mate, we'd probably better sit down with a bottle of whiskey and rethink.
That’s the problem. There aren’t any rules. Who knows what’s going to happen? Most of us aren’t lucky enough to have everyone else on the planet attracted to us. Most of us have (ahem) shall we say a more limited dating pool. And, sorry to say folks, at this pool there is definitely no lifeguard on duty. We’ve got to keep ourselves from drowning – just the way we would if we weren’t dating. Aside from sex, the best thing about being in a relationship is the partnership. I do, I do, I do want someone around to lift heavy stuff. But, as in business, most partnerships are far from perfect.
The closest thing to an example of a good partnership I can think of is my grandparents' relationship. My grandmother made all of her family’s clothes, and sure she made a rad pecan pie and certainly my grandfather brought home the money – but WHO WANTS TO DO THAT EVERY DAY. Who wakes up in the morning and says, “Well, Bruce’s trousers need hemming” and can call that the sum total of their lives. That’s what my grandparents had to do. Bacon, hemming, and love. All the time. It was a positive scandal when they got a waterbed. They still wanted to fuck.
Bacon. Seriously. The glue that held my family together.
The point here is that Crest White Strips had nothing to do with my grandparent’s happiness, and they don’t have anything to do with yours either. If you legitimately want your teeth to look like chicklets for yourself, go to town – but don’t do it to pick up some guy. There’s a guy out there waiting to pick you up. He’s going to go for you because of the mystery of pheremones (which I think are just science’s little joke) or some such crap... not because you read the stupid “Rules.”
There’s no such thing as rules. Even the less offensive and more accurate “guidelines” are wrong half the time. I mean yours truly is the author of several articles along the lines of “stupid things to avoid and I know 'cause I already did them” , and I’m the first to admit that sometimes shit works that appears utterly impossible.
The bottom line is: all the aerobics, white strips, and “Rules” in the world won’t get you what my grandparents had. Perhaps instead of trying to morph ourselves into Cindy Crawford all the time, we should work harder at being ourselves. Because that’s what it takes. Hard work. And Bacon.
