Over the course of four years, my relationships have followed a course similiar to that of Lindsay Lohan’s breasts – gradually shrinking into unattractive prunes.
The various stages of these relationships have shortened with time.
For instance, the honeymoon period began at a year, but consistently diminished in length down to one month, two weeks and finally a mere few hours haphazardly squeezed in whenever possible.
The other stages – the “married/disillusioned we should be apart but instead we’re going to stay together and make each other miserable” phase, the “break-up” period and the “rebound” phase – all followed suit.
Logically, the only next step for me would be to have an extremely brief relationship encompassing all the stages tailored to fit this pattern, which would enable me to get the shortest relationship possible out of my system, ridding myself of the dissipation curve.
I asked the sexiest man I knew – Mr. Nels Youngborg – to be my 24-minute lover.
“For 24 minutes, I’ll even wear a suit,” he agreed.
Elated by his acceptance, I formulated an outline for our projected relationship. First, there would be a 10-minute honeymoon, followed by a five-minute “disillusioned/married” phase, then a five minute break-up process, and of course, the four-minute rebound before moving into a healthy, caring friendship.
On the night of our date, Nels arrived smelling manly and appearing dangerously dapper.
He blushed and kicked the ground nervously as I started my timer and timidly approached.
“I brought you presents,” he said nervously as he handed me his gifts. “A Symphony chocolate bar, because just uttering your name is like music to my ears. And Tic-Tacs for later.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me!” I replied. So we rode off into the sunset to our intended destination – the coffee shop – and the honeymoon truly began to blossom.
“Oh, Leah!” Nels gushed as we waited in line for a piece of cheesecake.
“Your love is like a raft! Before I was sinking in a sea of cruel, taunting loneliness, but you brought me to the surface! I can breathe!”
“Nels!” I cried. “Your love is like a beach!”
I struggled for words. “I guess it keeps me all sandy?” We embraced passionately.
Conversation flowed naturally. “Tell me something about you I don’t already know.”
“Well,” I responded. “I’m lactose intolerant.”
“That’s okay, I like my women like that.”
I shuddered with desire. “I like it how you like it that I’m like that.”
“I like it how you like it that I like that you’re lactose intolerant!”
“Oh, Leah!” he screamed, jumping off the couch mounting me in a fit of passion and smearing cheesecake all over my face.
“Oh Nels!” I cried, looking at my watch. “Ten minutes are up!”He fell off me and moved down to the opposite end of the couch, glaring at the door.
I began the “disillusioned/married” phase with un-sexy conversation – “So, I got my period the other day. Man, I just kept bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. ”
“Okay!” Nels interrupted. “I don’t want to talk about this!”
“Why, because what I say doesn’t have any value in it?”
“No,” he responded. “It’s just disgusting, okay? I don’t want to talk about it!”
“Oh, I see, so you find me disgusting?” Our arguing continued for five minutes at which point we moved into the break-up period. Tears welled in my eyes.
“Nels, do you remember how it was in the beginning? It was so passionate that you mounted me in the coffee shop?”
“When, like six minutes and 34 seconds ago?”
“Yes, why don’t you touch me like you did then? Am I a beast to you?”
“I never touch you because apparently you’re always bleeding!” he said. I slapped him in the face and shouted, “You know who’s not afraid to touch me? Your friend John!”
“Oh my god!” Nels exclaimed. “How could you do this to me? How could John do this to me? Especially after I cheated on you with him as well! I’m gay, alright?”
“You’re gay?” I sobbed.
“Yes! Well, deal with it because it’s over!”
“Five minutes,” I called through sobs.
Thus in one single fit of uncontrolled emotion, our affair ended and we moved into the “rebound” phase, where we tried to force confused coffee shop patrons to have sex with us on the couches. After the “rebound” period ended, Nels and I agreed to remain friends. I felt such anger toward him for so many minutes – four to be exact – but now I hope he can find true happiness with someone else.
What’s more, now that I’ve experienced the shortest relationship possible, I can finally explore relationships that last longer than just a date or two. Then again, who knows? Is anyone up for a five-minute relationship?
Kaminsky can be reached at lkaminsky@campustimes.org.
