s a freshly divorced middle-aged man who started dating again six months ago, I have an analogy for you. Basically, getting to know a watch is a lot like becoming familiar with the presence of another human being in your life. The reality is, no matter what has been ingrained in you by the incurable romanticism of Gabriel Garcia Márquez, you have no idea whether you and that other person will synchronize with each another’s rhythms or fail spectacularly at doing so. That first flush of attraction, that heady opiatic sensation of gravity slipping away and your stomach plummeting down a rollercoaster, can give way to ennui or irritation pretty damn fast. What you thought was a charmingly idiosyncratic interest in veganism can rapidly become the source of your volcanic ire when confronted with the umpteenth diatribe about how the dairy in your cortado is akin to murder. Especially when said through the smug superiority of an oat milk mustache. So much so that in your mind, you respond, “Why don’t you blow a bag of quinoa up your ass, you hippie dick,” even as you say, “I
