Over the course of my romantic adventures I’ve heard a number of platitudes, but none so damaging as, “relationships are work.” Those three words kept me holding onto a handful of relationships that simply were not worth holding onto. All the work I put into them left me exhausted, miserable and feeling like a failure when it ultimately didn’t pay off.
Last month I went home in time for my hometown’s eggstravaganza. Yep. A celebration of eggs. It was really an excuse to go see my favorite three-year-old nephew and niece (I also have a favorite one-year-old nephew). It’s the perfect opportunity to pump him full of ice cream and candy and set him loose on a muddy playground (the niece isn’t quite ready for that kind of sugar rush). Normally, going home is solely tied to family. None of my friends from high school stayed behind.
Millennials. Non-committal flakes that they are have invented a new type of dating. Hookup culture. Dateless dating. Netflix and chill. Other annoying catchphrases. Essentially it’s a world in which no one makes a plan. Meetups are casual almost accidental. The will they won’t they question infuriatingly leaks into every weekend. No one really knows where they stand. Romance is dead.
I’ve never been one to enjoy The Bachelor/Bachelorette type shows. I had enough fairytale fodder with the help of Gary Marshall, Nora Ephron and Richard Curtis, I never needed to jump the shark any further with highly produced, “real life” Cinderella stories. Or, maybe, the fact that I am a hopeless romantic is what turned me off to the idea that anything resembling love could come out of a scenario where a multitude of women compete for the affections of one man.
“He loved her so much. He was never a violent person.” “They were inseparable, I can’t believe this happened.” “He was such a kind person, he would never harm a soul.” We hear these refrains every time someone falls victim to domestic violence. There’s always someone available to claim they know the accused and the situation well enough to know that some sort of demonic possession would have to come into play to lead to such a tragedy.
All summer (and the one before) there has been talk of Suicide Squad and the many colorful characters it features. The most colorful and most talked about these being Harley Quinn. Her costume, the actress who portrays her, and her backstory have been covered extensively. The latter topic takes us through the sordid beginnings of Harley Quinn and her relationship with the Joker, a demented boyfriend who ensnares the brilliant psychiatrist Harleen Quinzel through manipulation, abuse and a vat of acid. Hooray.
People and the internet at large have strong feelings about men and women who choose not to wear rings despite taking the proverbial plunge. The most common opinion is that married individuals who eschew the band are looking to cheat.
One of the most pivotal moments in a relationship is the introduction to the family. If it goes poorly, the couple has an uphill battle ahead if they choose to continue the relationship. If it goes well, everyone gets to live happily ever after. If it goes really well, wedding plans can commence. But what happens if your family falls for your honeybun and you aren’t quite sure Mendelssohn's March is in your future? Or worse yet, you fall out of love and decide to end the relationship?
Yep. I disappeared again. Because sometimes life happens and no one is paying me to write this stuff. Because I’m incredibly bad at monetizing words when they are personal on any level. I’m never going to write that novel. Look at me, just setting the perfect tone for this post.