Whether you’re married, dating, in a common-law relationship, or working it all “International” like Pitbull ft. Chris Brown, it’s not easy to keep the “love” alive. If you want to maintain that spark, and make your amorous relationships last, I’m going to share with you the one key thing you need for success.
WARNING: This post contains content that I find disturbing and gives me the squirms.
The most important thing I can tell you about my travel experiences as a self-diagnosed, semi-professional germophobe is that I still travel. This is an impressive feat of courage considering what I find disgusting about taxis, airports, airplanes, hotels, restaurants, conference centres, other random people and washrooms of any kind that are not attended to by my also-clean-freak wife. Before you nod knowingly and shrug wondering what’s so different for me from how you feel about this very same list of geogermal entities, let me ask you this- have you ever left a note for the maid at your hotel that says: “This room is cleaner than it was when I arrived. Take the day off. –Adam”.
I’m happy to say that I have only a few “uncomfortable” dating moments filed away in my portfolio of romance. That includes the “non-starters” where it just wasn’t going anywhere for anyone, which were somewhat awkward. Slightly more unpleasant were the dates where it was painfully obvious (to me and the waiter) that it was my companion who was feverishly scrambling for an exit strategy.
I’ve had a few fights in my life. Literally. As in, “Few: not many, but more than one.” Three actually. Make that two and a half. The full-fledged fisticuffs were both in Grade 5. The half-clash was in 1st-year University, drunk on a bus. All 2.5 were with my best friends. Every year in the days leading up to the Super Bowl, I think of these fights. Not because of the gruelling battles that are fought on the NFL’s sacred stage between armour-clad, compression-shorts-wearing gridiron gladiators. But, instead, because it was after the Super Bowl XL broadcast in 2006 that I watched my first pay-per-view UFC event. It was fighting like I had never seen before, and, clearly, never came close to experiencing. I was a changed man.
Okay, hang on, before this goes sideways, let’s call it: Bylaw Officer Belligerency. Please don’t be offended by my use of “Meter Maid”, as that’s not the point of this post. I went “retro-insensitive” with the above heading because, while I was able to craft an alliterate ring with the correct job title, there’s no corresponding Beatles’ song to hum in my head. It’s only a coincidence that it was a woman who issued me the parking ticket I’ve been fighting in Vancouver since September (2015).
You’d likely get a visit from social services if you called in WWE’s John Cena to give your teenagers some instruction on how to put their attitudes in check. Then again, maybe if he were to just show up at the front door, and not actually deploy his signature wrestling move… Hmmm. If that wasn’t already a parenting strategy you had considered- you’re welcome.