Why I’m still Single
I know why I’m still single.
I listen to Frank Sinatra.
And my respect for my brother has increased. Very clever to download songs like “I’ve got you under my skin” and “when a man loves a woman” and burn a cd for his girlfriend. It’s been done to death but still never fails to work. I had no clue Hani was so astute. I’d expect him to get her a book of Parkour and Kung fu, since those seem to be the only subjects he takes an interest in aaj kal.
Ha! There it is! He’s downloaded “you’re so vain”. I knew he’d find something to screw it up!
What a dork.
But he’s a sweet dork. Mash is lucky.
Women who listen to Frank Sinatra rarely find any man worthy to start a relationship with. On this side there’s Ol’ Blue Eyes promising to fly you to the moon, and in that corner is a butt ugly moron who thinks “Wassup?” is a good conversation starter. It isn’t. Be creative once in a while. It won’t kill you but might surprise us to death.
A long time ago, when this blog was a thumb-sucking infant, I mentioned a very crappy book about a 40 year old Spanish lord (Gadzooks, the amount of lords that exist in the world of Mills & Boons) called Don Diablo and his very lovely 19 year old bride named something or the other. The gist of the book lies in the fact that even if you abduct a 19 year old, marry her forcefully and commit pedophilia; you can get away with it if you’re rich and handsome in a distinguished way. It also helps if you have a sympathy ticket- like a mum that hated you so much she named you Don Diablo.
Completely, if you live in Demented Romanceland. Or Lovish Disturbia
And many of us do. The girl who lent me this book does.
I stopped believing in fairy tale romances a long time ago. I watch rom coms knowing that this is the flip side of the escapism that forces people to watch horror porn like “Hostel” and “Saw”. Porn fills a physical need, but romantic movies fill a spiritual need. We know there’s barely any chance True Love exists, even if it does there’s little probability that True Love has a happy ending (aka riding off in the sunset aka getting happily married) and even by some wonderful twist of fate both things happen as planned, there’s always the fear that 15 years down the road both of you will get so tired of seeing each other you’ll wonder why you fell in love and got married in the first place. True Love is a fraud, as is that creature you married, damn him, who on your wedding night tried to serenade you with “Sexyback”. Deep down all of us know there’s barely any guarantee that we’ll find the One. We’ll probably settle down (contentedly, lets hope) with #143, and our One will be sailing merrily merrily down the Amazon River on the honeymoon he was supposed to go with us, but ended up taking with his #267.
And since we know this, we gorge our impoverished romantic soul with junk food, turn it into an obese, clogged-artery filled mess, and then wait for it to have a heart attack and die off forever. Cruel cruel cruel!
Thus, I feed my poverty stricken, khaali slate of a heart very little, but always with quality fare. For what it’s worth, my romantic soul has good taste, and might live to be a hundred.
Note: “When a man loves a woman” is extremely overrated. For simple, dignified and pure feeling listen to “Darling Pretty” by Mark Knopfler , “Strange and Beautiful” by Aqualung, or “Please forgive me” by David Gray.