He (almost) had me at chrysanthemums.

The thing about being a superstitious person is that when a year ends in 13, you immediately feel uneasy. The entire year has the potential to be a calamity, and so you resolve to do the only thing a quasi-intellectual can do– combat irrationality with reason. In other words, you identify the components in your life you are most fearful of, and employ logic (rather than emotion) to assuage those fears.

For example, you fear the sanitation engineer of 2012 was the closest you may have come to finding your one true love. After all, he loved vanilla, The Wire, and chrysanthemums– three of your favorite things– and he still didn’t quite pan out the way you had hoped.

Now, in the darkest part of the night, when this fear seems more reality than irrational fleeting  thought, you begin to reason with yourself. You are a lean, mean, ambitious tv-making machine. And just because you haven’t had a wealth of (positive) relationship experiences doesn’t mean you are incapable of finding at least one– and potentially even with a college-educated lean, mean, ambitious ______ (insert professional career here) machine.

Of course, your reasoning is soon met with a second fear– “Kosherlover69,” which according to JDate is your 100% match. 33 years old, career-less, and sporting a long scraggly beard, JDate is convinced this is the best you can do. And what if JDate, the authority on everything Jewish and dating, is right?

But then again, you only answered three questions regarding your personal life– your favorite food: coffee; your career: entertainment/media; and your city: NYC. With such a limited number of details, you’d probably make an excellent companion to about 5 million other tri-state area men. Ok, maybe 250,000 when you factor in the religion component.

However, if there are SO many possibilities, how will you ever narrow it down to one? You fear you are ill-equipped to handle the selection process. Since you were a young oh so feminine girl, when faced with the dilemma of which color shoe to buy, you’d convince your mother to buy it for you in every color. [insert JAP judgement here]

Men are not shoes, though. And perhaps if you stopped comparing them to inanimate objects or absurdly misplaced metaphors, you’d have a little more luck in the romance department. That, and a lot more sleep.


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