The Luv Doc: Some Secret Grotto
Men don't fear commitment
Dear Luv Doc,
The new year is fast approaching and I haven't met the man of my dreams or even a decent New Year's date. I have swiped left on Tinder so many times the left side of my right index finger is grotesquely calloused. Is there some secret grotto or tavern back room where real, honest, decent guys hang out and talk about their feelings and their yearning for long-term commitment?
Contrary to popular folklore, men talk about their feelings all the time. For instance: Maybe you were ignoring the Facebook posts of your male friends throughout the entire 2016 Longhorn Football season or maybe all the dudes you know are into badminton and World of Warcraft (respek), but ever since September 11, my Facebook feed was more emo than the front row of a Cure concert.
Maybe you also didn't notice that the Dallas Cowboys' only two losses this season were to a team from New York City quarterbacked by a 12-year-old hall monitor named Eli – perhaps the only NFL player ever filmed dancing in a banana suit. Yes, the pain is fucking real. If you don't get that, maybe it's you who is an emotionless automaton.
Furthermore, men don't fear commitment. They're all about commitment as long as it gets results. Charlie Strong had a deep commitment to winning, but he was 16-21 with three losing seasons. He is by all accounts a truly wonderful guy, but saying you're committed to winning is not the same as actually winning.
Talk is cheap – just like a Tinder profile. I'm sure lots of women get lured into a first date by a picture of a shirtless guy with a gold necklace sitting on the hood of his Camaro flashing some sort of generic gang sign only to find out that wasn't his Camaro or his gold necklace and he isn't actually a gangbanger. Plus he can't even afford a shirt. I would draw a parallel to our current orange-haired president-elect, but I don't want to get all emo.
So, here's my advice: If there really is a grotto somewhere (and I have never heard of it), don't go in there unless you're getting paid centerfold money. Actually, scratch that, just don't go in there at all. It will be full of nothing but sad middle-aged men and antibiotic-resistant chlamydia. Back rooms of taverns have traditionally been unkind to women, as well. Seen The Accused? You're better off standing in the middle of Sixth Street and screaming, "Who wants a date?!?!?"
There is very little time left in this abomination of a year, so I highly recommend that you spend the rest of it in the real world with an open heart and an open mind – at least until your calluses smooth out.