My keen study of human interaction and subtle googly eyes has directly led to two romantic relationships, in which I take more pride than my own long-term relationship. Had I not created opportunities for non-overlapping social groups, these paramours would have never puckered up and later thanked me repeatedly for arranging them like the Indian parents of 8-year-olds.
But you know my greatest comfort in these carefully-calibrated setups? That my creations aren't creating, or at least prophylacting. When it comes to pagans, matchmaking should get the withdrawal method.
Even rotten little punks like raccoon-mascara Jenny Humphrey on "Gossip Girl" saved themselves for years while protecting their reputations with tales of tail. It's become a cultural trope that high school girls lie about their sexual history to avoid the "prude" tag and further the post-"Wings" career of Thomas Haden Church.
But once you start college, the other shoe drops, as well as panties and moral standards. With no Big Brother figure to keep them in line, today's 18 to 20-somethings are going at it like they’re getting college credit (and you Sacramento State students probably are).
So why should I help them hook up?
Sure, I see the chemistry (dot com) between those who are perishing in my extended social circle - the furtive glances, the humor-independent laughter, the grabbing of a thigh at a 1955 dinner table. Knowing my record in successful nonsexual hookups, my gal has asked for my help in troubleshooting a stalled mating process that had baffled proverbial zoologists nudging the pair together.
What's my reward if I can break this impasse? Knowing the couple is coupling twice a day, four days a week, laughing maniacally at the sanctity of marriage as they "go down" the road to perdition? I'm tired of hearing these dyads' tawdry references to their hugfests at harvest hayrides, karaoke nights and other twilight gatherings of the damned.
The cutest couples with bling-free index fingers are only addicted to eskimo kissing! They clasp hands on restaurant tables; collapse on the couch into each others' arms, all grins and giggles but no gazonga-groping; and talk to each other. Fornicators, in contrast, talk around each other, to other people, because they've lost all respect for each other. As a wise Jew once said, "you can't have sex with someone you admire."
So if you're willing to abstain, I'm willing to matchmake. Unless you're into Twilight. If he doesn't make a move on you overnight, he’s gay.