Mind Of Man: The End Of Dating
I am canceling dating. That’s right. The public negotiation for sex, commitment, and marriage between two strangers that begins with “Do you want to go out Friday night?” is now officially over. Kaput. Adios!
It’s too much drama. Stress. Money. It’s nothing but awkward conversations, uncomfortable clothes, and mediocre Thai meals. Nobody seems to enjoy it anymore. Women are bitterly disappointed by the whole process. Men are apathetic towards it. It’s a broken system where no one gets what they want. It’s all push and no give. Women talk about dating the way they’d talk about a root canal. Men don’t even talk about it. In fact, my gender has pretty much already canceled dating – referring to it, instead, as “hanging out.”
What’s the point?
Since our species must reproduce, I will replace dating with Scrabble. Winner gets to choose whether there will be an exchange of genetic information. This exchange can happen in a doctor’s office or “the old-fashioned way.” But let me reiterate: whoever wins the best two out of three Scrabble games has the option to either copulate or inseminate. This should be doubly exciting, since the makers of Scrabble are changing the rules this summer, and allowing proper nouns. They’d better include a capital “V” tile for when I spell out my name. On my iPad. I’m like the Peyton Manning of Scrabble. (And to those of you who don’t know who Peyton Manning is, he’s basically one of the stars of The Football Show.) Scrabble will be a fairer and more enjoyable way to pair off and propagate the species. Afterward, we can all return to our couches and the real loves in our lives: TiVo, Twitter, and Xbox.
I’ve made some calls. Signed some papers. Cast a little black magic spell.
Yea, verily, I thus spake: release the sweatpants! Those plans you made to see a movie with that guy who loves to laugh, volunteers at ASPCA, and makes a “killer” risotto are now non-existent. (That wasn’t bad lighting in his picture; he really does have a soul patch, a triangular patch of hair like a tiny vagina underneath the lower lip that quivers when he sings acoustic Creed covers. Oh yeah, also, he wasn’t really “indie rock.”) To the men out there, check it out. You’re off the hook, bro! No more failing to live up to her fairytale expectations.
I mean, let’s be honest. This idea is win-win. Women won’t have to shave their legs. Men can go to strip clubs and actually enjoy the all-you-can-eat, hot and cold buffet. No dating, no insecurity. Men can fully indulge the absurd notion that 20 is the new 30, and 40 is the new 30. Every night will be girls’ night out, or a never-ending bachelor party.
Without the pressure of performing an outdated romantic tarantella, we can all sink to our lowest stereotypes together. Men are from Batman, Women are from Oprah. Dating is a gamble, and you can’t lose if you don’t throw the dice. I’m taking the dice away. Replacing it with Scrabble. And, eventually, with other board games: RISK, Monopoly, Connect Four.
This won’t be easy, of course.
For women, brunches will probably become bland affairs. (I’m convinced that modern women look for the worst in their dates so they’ll have something to talk about at brunch.) On the other hand, men will continue devolving until we’re herded into stalls, fed a diet of beer, and milked. But that’s a worst case scenario, far into the future.
Until then, for those who desire procreation, there’s Scrabble.
Trust me. This solution might seem extreme. But all I ever hear is how terrible it is to date. Men are all losers, babies, braggarts, or socially deformed spazzbags. Women are no better. Dates are tense standoffs. Or two balled-up armadillos with chips and salsa between them. We get so angry when we don’t get what we want, when we want it, and easily.
Better to have loved and lost than to never to have loved because you’re a big baby. But I have solved all of our problems. Dating is dunzo. You’re welcome.