Ladies and Gentlemen, as has been widely speculated and in light of countless accusations, I can finally articulate in words the following admission: I am addicted to love.
As far as addictions go, I could’ve done worse.
But that’s not to say that I haven’t struggled with it over the years… and I certainly have the battle wounds to prove it.
They manifest themselves in my aversion to Geminis (and Aquarians), in an inclination to declare anything with an Argentinean accent a garca (cheater) and a general boycott of editors-in-chief.
Please don’t think it has all been bad. In fact, I think even the bad has been good… of course, I can say that now with hindsight and an impressive collection of tear-stained Kleenex.
All kidding aside, regardless of the misery, heartache and my faulty predictions of impending apocalypse after each and every breakup, I’ve always returned for a second-serving of love. (Sometimes even with the same man!)
Like I said, I’m truly, madly, deeply addicted to love and not in a new-age bogus disorder sort of way- in a scientifically justifiable fashion.
Did you know that a study on brain chemistry of people in love demonstrated the same low-levels of serotonin as people with obsessive-compulsive disorder? Did you know that love addiction could create similar brain activity as drug addiction, in terms of withdrawals and cravings?
I’ve lived these findings. Love has made me do some wild things in spite of myself, but I’ve finally managed to harness my addiction through entrepreneurship and give back to society. I opened a matchmaking agency.
If love is a drug, then I’m a dealer and I peddle only the finest.
I run a matchmaking service, called Three Matches.
I opened my business with lots of theoretical and practical knowledge on love, dating and relationships- but almost no background in business, save for some mental notes I had compiled while dating CEOs. My classroom was mostly business cocktails I had attended as a ‘plus one’ and the lessons ran along the lines of what not to say with your mouth full.
Needless to say, I had much to learn… and quick! While designing my business model it became clear to me that I would have to narrowly define my demographic because I would never succeed in being everything to everyone. As an adherent to the school of thought that advocates love as a basic human right for all, I agonized over this realization.
I struggled with a small-scale existential crisis, before I came to the conclusion that my business would be an outgrowth of my hobby and I would simply continue to match my friends: attractive and accomplished singles.
This idea drew criticism and ridicule. “Why would anybody attractive or accomplished require matchmaking services-you should extend your service to trolls. That’s where the big bucks are at,” my advisors suggested in a more subtle fashion.
Enter my first client: Edward. This tall, dark, handsome Aussie contacted me with much urgency after reading an article about the agency. He refused to board the flight to his next meeting without speaking to me first. Within minutes, I was on my way to the airport bar in Terminal 3 to determine how I would help the stranger at the other end of the line. I surrendered to the warnings and allowed them to fill my mind: I soon dreaded the savage Sasquatch with abhorrent social graces I envisioned. I was taken aback by the immaculately groomed picture of Ralph Lauren perfection that greeted me instead… so much so that I had to glance down at my engagement ring periodically to avoid my imagination from getting the best of me once more.
Edward could have been a poster boy for Three Matches. Accomplished, attractive, Australian (!) and much, much more…
But seeing these characteristics converge on his tanned 6’1 frame led me to join the cynics momentarily and wonder why he would ever require help to find love. Something just had to be wrong with him!
Was this man a choleric misanthrope or a sociopath that very cleverly managed to drown his social misgivings in industrial-sized quantities of charm? Was he some sort of sexual deviant who welcomed animals and sharp objects into the bedroom? Was he a con artist that had purchased his shiny but subdued Rolex on somebody else’s line of credit?
I explored these questions in my interactions with Edward in the months that followed and investigated him in a way that would shame even the Israeli secret service. He passed the gentleman litmus test with flying colors and reaffirmed my original thesis that love was a basic human right and everyone was entitled to it- including Edward.