Opinion

Sweet love beats being in a hot tub with twins 

Homer Starkey
Opinion Columnist

Youive read my columns as I rambled on about all sorts of trivial topics, from Nancy-boy pop stars to the indigenous rednecks of Pasadena. What else can I possibly write about? With spring in full bloom, letis discuss love, sweet love ­ or a lack thereof. 

Itis not just fun and games anymore is it? First dates are arduous and as ambiguous as job interviews. It seems as if everyone at the restaurant table has a hidden agenda. The girl wants financial and emotional security, the guy wants a hot tub rendezvous that would be ideal if it involved a twin sister and the waiter doesnit really believe the desserts are that good. He just wants to bump up the price of the meal for a bigger tip.

Maybe I am getting ahead of myself. Many of us still havenit gotten to that first date phase, because you canit find a decent person in the usual places. The guys at Bar Houston who flex when they check their watches seem a bit shallow, and the girl reading Proust at the cafe on a Friday night seems deep enough to drown you in existential rhetoric, which by the way, is the worst way to go (right up there with shark attacks).

Then you find out your online interest is the 45-year-old math teacher you see three times a week at nine in the morning, and directly after that, sneaking out of the backdoor of a downtown jazz club isnit an easy undertaking.

I have a friend (letis call him Raymond, because that is his name) who meets people in all sorts of unusual settings. Heis picked up women at the library under the guise of using the Dewey Decimal system. Exercising his time-management skills, heis gotten numbers from girls working the drive-through. And, in a daring feat, he met the mother of his child at the grocery store. He liked Frosted Flakes, she liked Frosted Flakes and so a baby was made. Easy enough.

I have another friend who has been married twice and is working on a third "I do." He tells me my reluctance to seek out a soul mate means one simple thing: I, like so many rational men of my generation, have a fear of commitment. I told him he should look into it. 

I really donit think it is fear of commitment so much as shudder-to-think self-examination. I canit date just to have fun. I am a recovering serial monogamist. I am the type of person who looks for the good in every love interest, and then ends up spending the next year of his life living with a girl and a cat, having my apartment redecorated with all sorts of fluffy stuff, and sooner or later exclaiming "Oh my God, honey! Is that you on the cover of the Girls Gone Wild video?"

A few months ago I did the unthinkable: I started dating a friend. Sheis intelligent, pretty and probably reading this, so Iill add sheis great in bed. In case her parents are reading this, Iim joking! We just cuddle, I swear. 

Anyway, so far so good. I totally recommend it. Girls, instead of telling that dorky guy that you just want to be friends, try going out with him first. (There, Seymour, I said it. You owe me 20 bucks).

In all seriousness, it seems to be working. No pressure, no hidden agendas, no conflicting thoughts. That is, until the moment I stumble across twins in a hot tub.

Starkey, a post-baccalaureate student, can be reached at hstarkey@hotmail.com.