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Lovers and other strangers



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Later on I meet some friends for drinks. they’re both female so I figure this could be another chance for some useful research. I mention the pheromone cologne, which results in more sarcasm.

"Oh my God it’s so strong, someone hold me back!" Exclaims one.

Yes, very funny, but at least I’m making the effort.

"So what about you?" I ask the comedian. "What are you usually doing on St. Valentine’s Day?"

"I’m usually single," she admits. "Or I have my period."

I’m starting to think that maybe being single isn’t such a bad option after all. I could be like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, sort of tortured and brooding. Of course it’s romantic when he does it, whereas with me I would probably come across as some guy who’s just really boring. Although in a way, walking off into the mist with Claude Rains does sound somewhat appealing (no not that way). I mean I could run around in circles trying to find someone to fall in love with and go to all the trouble of trying to figure out if she prefers flowers or chocolates, and think up cute sayings so she can tell her friends how sweet I am, only to wake up one morning and have her tell me I’m not the one , whatever that means.

Or I could say to hell with it and go on as I have. Still, something tells me I won’t.

Joining the French resistance and fighting the Nazis was never really an option. If I’m honest with myself (I rarely am), I have to admit that I would be much more likely to get on the plane with Ingrid Bergman and let Claude Rains have the Nazis to himself. Which means that I guess I’m not going to give up searching for someone to fall in love with (even if I don’t necessarily believe in it).

So watch this space and maybe next year I’ll be so full of nauseating platitudes on the virtues of romantic love that you will shake your collective heads and say "I remember him when...."

By the way guys, the pheromones don’t work, but it doesn’t hurt to smell nice.