Ten years. That’s what they said it took to fall completely out of the ‘headoverheels, I wannahaveyourbabies,” stages of love. Therefore, my dreams of mating with my husband when we’re 98 and him still being blissfully unaware that I’ve gained those pesky wrinkles and a flatter ass since we were younger, will be nevermore. Maybe there’s a reason people lose their sight and their mind in old age. I don’t know. All I know? With stories like this, who the hell even wants to get married. I wouldn’t have said ten years. Though, with the remarkable speed of my past few relationships, I could probably say a lifetime is about… four months.
“About ten percent of mature couples had the same chemical reactions when shown photographs of their loved ones as those just starting out. Previous research has suggested that the first stages of romantic love fade within 15 months and after 10 years it has gone completely, the newspaper said.” (That’s promising, no?)
I’ve been mulling the thought around in my head for a while as I faced the bloodsuckingdemonboyfriends and I’ve determined- our species as a whole? Might be evolving to singledom at a quick pace.
I mean- who stays together out of lack of money anymore, right? (I guarantee the number is less than 20 years ago, significantly, even.) Do people stay together for the kids? You hardly see that anymore. Who stays together because they genuinely FUNCTION better with their ‘better half’ around. (Who uses the term ‘better half?’)
So many sitcoms have made the joke of “We totally pretend to fight but we’re secretly really in love in t.v. land which means that we’ll keep comical secrets from one another and we’ll joke about each other’s looks or weight because really, at the end of the day it’s all we can do from bashing each other on the head with large pieces of wood retained from our home that we purchased circa 1998-2000, and knocking each other unconscious.“(Which… sadly- in hindsight? Is somewhat appealing to the reality of my prior debauches.)
That I’d rather be smacked with a piece of floorboard than have someone else frolicking on the mattress, bunnyteethgaping, of the bed I picked out with my fiance, says… something. The fact that he managed to find someone with larger tooth structure than him only leads me to believe that there is indeed, someone out there for us all- praise the lord. I could use that very argument for an incredible, winning, thesis on how two people could stay together, simply.. because they shared such a special common bond. Washington Journal? Here I come…. but I can’t get the idea of mediocre bunnysex, (involving my old mattress and too many carrots,) out of my head right now and I’m really quite frightened.
This is my issue with research studies, (and I’ve become kind of a research junkie as of late.) We’re complex, and determined and some people will make it simply because human emotion dictates it so. We have such a need to love and be loved. But- as each new study comes out, we simply react, then almost like a drug, our brain processes the material, and desensitizes us. (Unless it’s toy recalls and you’re a mother, in that case, you become a onlineboard-swappin’-ninja.) It’s a gift.
In the meantime, we’re all doomed. The crazy cat ladies at least.. aren’t allergic to their life partners. (All eighty-seven of them.) Me? I’m allergic to cats and media bullshit that spells out just how happy we can expect to be by a very presumptuous formula. And bunnies.
I hate bunnies.
Next at Ten….
