Why Dating is Way Too Fulfilling
Why dating is way too fulfilling is a lot like going to a buffet restaurant in Vegas when you are famished. Any way you slice it, the pie is set to disappoint.
Now, of course, I stop altogether at attributing this theory to something more than dating -- whatever that is -- so for now, let's suffice it to say that dating...is like...a buffet...in Vegas.
Smoke and mirrors, baby, smoke and mirrors. I can say that because I've been to Las Vegas quite a few times. And I've um...never...um..eaten at the buffet. Still, trust me when I say it. Dating sucks. So do buffets in Vegas.
Here is how I know; I have a friend (all good stories start with that doozie, don't they) who fell in love with the Tuesday night meatloaf. Problem was the meatloaf only appears on Tuesday night. So every other night she fuses over room temperature creamed corn, somehow-fried-yet-dry-and-limp chicken on the bone and mac and cheese without the pubic hair, please. And some Tuesday's meatloaf doesn't get served and instead my friend is left forging for her stainless steel squared dinner in full dismay. Add to that the fact that she fell in love with this meatloaf at approximately 2 a.m. after a perfect day in the sun, winnings in her pocket and 4 gin and tonics in her belly, and the picture slowly starts to become clear. The meatloaf, apparently, took my friend for an emotional ride up and down the peaks and valleys of ecstacy and remorse like no other. Meatloaf, that is.
So that's why I liken a Vegas buffet with dating. With love, really, but not really. Because as much as I remind my dear friend that her long lost love for this loaf of meat should remain a cherished memory in her head, the fact is that this loaflike heartache was mostly soy product and a whole helluva lot of crumby breadcrumbs.
Now, of course, I stop altogether at attributing this theory to something more than dating -- whatever that is -- so for now, let's suffice it to say that dating...is like...a buffet...in Vegas.
Smoke and mirrors, baby, smoke and mirrors. I can say that because I've been to Las Vegas quite a few times. And I've um...never...um..eaten at the buffet. Still, trust me when I say it. Dating sucks. So do buffets in Vegas.
Here is how I know; I have a friend (all good stories start with that doozie, don't they) who fell in love with the Tuesday night meatloaf. Problem was the meatloaf only appears on Tuesday night. So every other night she fuses over room temperature creamed corn, somehow-fried-yet-dry-and-limp chicken on the bone and mac and cheese without the pubic hair, please. And some Tuesday's meatloaf doesn't get served and instead my friend is left forging for her stainless steel squared dinner in full dismay. Add to that the fact that she fell in love with this meatloaf at approximately 2 a.m. after a perfect day in the sun, winnings in her pocket and 4 gin and tonics in her belly, and the picture slowly starts to become clear. The meatloaf, apparently, took my friend for an emotional ride up and down the peaks and valleys of ecstacy and remorse like no other. Meatloaf, that is.
So that's why I liken a Vegas buffet with dating. With love, really, but not really. Because as much as I remind my dear friend that her long lost love for this loaf of meat should remain a cherished memory in her head, the fact is that this loaflike heartache was mostly soy product and a whole helluva lot of crumby breadcrumbs.
I think men just suck. The meatloaf kind, the dry, limp chicken kind, even the medium rare filet wrapped in bacon kind. We should just order them up when we want them, so that we don't have to deal with them the rest of the time and we can just relax and enjoy ourselves.
ReplyDeleteYour friend should maybe move away from the buffet, and try a prix fixe restaurant? I don't know what the hell that means, in this metaphor. I suppose you all can define it as you like.
I, though, would have a lot less cleaning to do.