Complimentary Stuff Can Wrinkle Your Heart (and Headstrands)

All of this dating stuff leads to the next question. Do we have a right to upset biology?  Specifically, if all humans have a need for other humans, can any old rogue human just stop needing any or all of the other ones? 

“What’s that you say?” 

“You don’t need people?” 

“Sure.”  Go into the wilderness or lock yourself up. Unplug and pack away everything that was made by humans.  Find a wild boar to eat and pray that your Chia head shows new sprouts. Now, sit tight. How long will you last before your own mind makes you insane—1, 2, 3 hours?  

I ask this because every morning, I have a dialogue with myself which goes a bit like this:

"When I meet my next girl, I will look for signs that she won’t be selfish.”

“That will be hard.  Selfish creeps in.  The last one promised you the moon but gave you (gym-sock stinky) cheese."

“Right.  Well then, I’m not sure.”

“Why do you need a girlfriend?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know. Everyone is suppose to have someone."

"Do you think half of your brain will rot?"

"Yes. Perhaps I do."

This morning I became conscious of this reoccurring dialogue that goes on between two rouge parts of my brain.  I realized that another part of my mind was tired of the conversation and ready to pass it to the conscious departments with much hope that "reality" could stop the dialogue.  They embraced it. They thought the conversation was delightfully perplexing. 

“Who would be crazy enough to fight a biological drive?"

“Not I.”

“Me either.” 

“We like girls,” I and me said in unison.

Applying my face, I see in the mirror a stray batch of hair that had been negatively impacted—during yesterday’s shower—because I used the complimentary gel instead of the complimentary shampoo. Those tiny 3-day dose bottles look the same in the shower without my reading glasses.

“Rogues and rebels,” I wiggle a metaphysical finger at the stray strands that will never again be tempered by a blow dryer.  “I’ll have to wait until that strand grows a bit to cut it off.”  

I realize one very important fact—; if that little mishap in the shower caused a permanent wrinkle, there’s no way I'll mess with my biology. Truth is, I can’t do without a partner in crime.  I need one, but I can only see the deceit and prepare for more.

I don't want to forget about the power of love. This too deserves respect, even if I can’t embody the dream—at this very moment—with a devoted tangible girlish figure. For now, I’ll take my mind off the what-if-everything-goes-south and hope that she doesn't need reading glasses when we’re in the shower. Someone has to figure out what goes where!