Dating has never been so festive and frantic
By Isabelle Orr, Entertainment Editor
Ah, winter. Where I trade my regular depression for the much more festive seasonal depression, my thick denim shorts for my thick denim jeans, and I am contractually obligated to make mulled wine every 40 minutes. As every facet of social media is currently shoving down my throat, we are in the throes of “cuffing season.” This is a national phenomenon where even the hardest “I’m not looking for anything serious” people crave the physical and emotional connection of a stifling and ultimately toxic codependent relationship. Even me, who has sworn off committed relationships for the next 50 to 70 years, just held a mannequin’s hand to try and feel something again. Here I examine the pros for lowering your standards and opening yourself to the concept of “love” until March, where one of you will inevitably move to Montreal for six months under the guise of “working on your art.”
Saving on your hydro bill
I sleep next to my space heater, which is not only expensive but also a fire hazard that really makes me feel alive. Unfortunately, I often wake up to the smell of burning hair and have a permanent grill pattern on my stomach from where I’ve gotten too close. I recommend taking a digital temperature gun to each of your dates to see how high their body heat is. Your other option, of course, is dating a werewolf from Twilight.
The quintessential “autumn” photo
According to my Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter, every couple I know has been squatting in a pumpkin patch since September 29. Friends of friends got married in a pumpkin patch, rubber boots and all. Unfortunately, in the province of BC it is illegal to visit a pumpkin patch without a romantic partner. DNA samples must be provided before entering any corn mazes. Ditto farmers markets.
It’s pretty sad seeing a Shaggy without a Scooby, or a Daria without a Jane. God forbid you’re dressed as Kim Kardashian at a house party, stumbling around from room to room with three wine coolers humming “Love Lockdown” sadly under your breath. That’s why my ideal couple costume is CatDog. We’re attached at the butt, we can never separate, so my partner can never leave me. Ever.
Nothing sets the mood for a cheerful family dinner more than your elderly, wizened grandmother asking you where your significant other is. Ha ha, you say. How are you still alive? While each of your cousins gaze into their boyfriends’ eyes and gushes about how thankful they are that the miracles of love and general proximity have brought them together to enjoy this beautiful mystery called life, I recommend downing their glasses of wine. You know what they say—love is blind, with no peripheral vision!
Be honest with me—have you ever bought an umbrella from a store? Absolutely not.
Like going to the dentist or watching Breaking Bad, buying an umbrella is just something that I’ll never, ever do. You should always look for a partner who is open, understanding, and generous with their time and affection. But most of all, you should look for someone with at least three umbrellas. And none of that “backpack-sized” bullshit. I want a wooden U-shaped handle or a see-through bubble one. After all, I’m worth it.
Yes, I am accepting applications for someone who wants to cradle me like a baby as I tell them about all of my childhood trauma (only for the months of November to March as after that I am heading to Montreal to work on my art). Please forward all applications along with an 8×10 glossy and a lock of your hair to the Other Press offices.