Being real

I just heard something that makes sense–the first two months in a relationship don’t count. Think about it–you and your date suppress all the annoying crap you both do day-to-day. Then, over dinner, the way you suck your teeth leaves her despondent. And the way she slurps her coffee leaves you incandescent with rage.

Relationships–in any form–are constant, sometimes delicate negotiations. There will be stuff that angers both sides. How you overcome the disagreements will define the success or failure of it.

And let’s be blunt–all of us, at some point, mistake someone’s fuckability for their aptness as a life partner. Kids, they’re not the same thing. A fuck buddy is great for a cold, lonely weekend. A life partner gives you shelter when your parents die, or you lose your job, or the doctor has bad news. Life partner is the long game, not just the slings and the arrows, but the joys and the highs. Put it this way–fuckability is a swimming pool at the Y. Life partner is the ocean. Shallow water, or a deeper dive.

I think we suppress a question–yes, you’re highly bed-able, but are you, at the very least, a decent life partner?

All these questions get in the way of unbridled passion, you say. True. But let me throw this out there: I brought up Pierre Trudeau’s motto, “reason before passion.” Wouldn’t the smarter play be to consider the options, and making sure there’s water in the ocean before you dive in head-first? I’m not dismissing euphoria. I’m (hopefully) smart enough to know it doesn’t last. And you need more to build on.


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