romance

Romance is really pretty deranged when you think about it. I mean, what is it in humans that makes them crave drama and uncertainty and passionate disfunctionality? A woman says she is miserable when she is waiting to see if he'll call, but part of her loves it. Because the heart is pounding and the world is tipping and it all feels so deliciously desperate.

But think about this: Has anyone ever said, "Gee, life would be more fulfilling if my friendships and family relationships were just a tad more fucked up. If they were just a splash less communicative and a splash more volatile."

Yet for some unknown and unquantifiable reason, we want a splash of volatility in our love lives. We want chase scenes and vampires and wind-swept Cliffs of Dover. We want period costumes and horses and final heart-wrenching reunions with bad guys on the way. We want the one we're with (sometimes) and we want a few dozen others who scratch certain itchy places on our thumpin' bumpin' egos.

If all this is left over from mating rituals on the savannah, we have a long way to go as a species -- and we should admit it.