If all the world’s a stage, I’m not much of a player.

The question has often been posed whether art imitates life or life imitates art?

I think I’m safe in assuming that my life imitates a sitcom.

I’m already enrolled in that deal with a friend of mine. If by the time I turn 40, neither of us are married or have kids, we’ll bite the bullet and make it happen together. It just makes sense. We’re both awesome folk who’d be great parents (once time and maturity set in). We’d bring everything to the table necessary to raise a child in a stable environment and it wouldn’t feel like a loss. What this spurred was one of the more enjoyable and interesting conversations I’ve had in some time. Find a good friend and figure out, if you mashed your features together, what would your child be like?

Think back to your own childhood. How did you respond to new ideas? Were you an avid reader? Did you pick up maths quickly? What social attributes did you possess? Did you make friends easily? Were you responsible? Honest? Giving or selfish? Brave or cowardly? What physical features stood out? Hair? Skin? Eyes? Interesting recessive genes? Double joints or strange talents? Were you athletic? Quick witted or dim? What about negative traits? Any health problems? Did you catch everything that went around the school yard?

If your traits mix favourably, think about it. What do you lose by having a potential safety net in the event of continual romantic meltdown? It could happen to you. Do you want to be left alone for the rest of your life at 40? Romantic comedies tell us this is pretty much the worst eventuality. What could go wrong with a little insurance? I’m not sure, but if my sitcom-y life has anything to do with it, I’ll likely find out.

‘Cause, I mean, that’s not where it ends…

I’ve done the thing where I thought I was on a date, but that wasn’t how my datee saw it. Awkwardness was abated by the fact that I didn’t make a move, given her mention of people she had “crushes” on. In retrospect she probably knew, but just wanted to help me save face.

I’ve done the thing where I thought I was on a date and thought that wasn’t how my datee saw it. Turns out my lack of moves were perceived as a lack of interest, so she never made any moves back. Am I a trope yet?

I’ve also been on a number of excursions that in retrospect were clearly dates, just without my knowledge. Likely the reason they went so smoothly is that I had no idea, ensuring I acted like myself rather than the person I thought they’d want me to be. Are things becoming clear yet? I don’t really know what I’m doing here.

It’s like someone’s written a script that I’m reading along to without my knowledge.

Last year I also had a situation where I went out for something that I couldn’t work out before, during or even afterwards. I didn’t think it was a date, then kind of did, then during flipped and flopped a few times before deciding that maybe it was. Or wasn’t? Was it possibly at some stage, but her intentions changed part way during the night? Head full of fluff, I went to bed.

The next day I got up and went on what was certainly a date. No motives were disguised, we clearly dug each other quite heavily and so when she invited me back to her place to watch some things I clearly declined.

Wait, what? Well I had somewhere I needed to be.

Another date with another girl.

We were going to an orgy.

In real life, this would never happen within a 24 hour period. Clearly I don’t inhabit reality.

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