My Grandparents Don’t Get Along
The way we look at love has changed and not for the better
I recently stopped seeing a woman who I had been dating for the last 11 months. On our very first date, I told her we had “triple sigma” chemistry. For those of you who aren’t math nerds, three sigma is three standard deviations. In other words, it’s something that only has a .3% chance of happening. I was letting her know just how rare I thought our chemistry was.
I was right. A month or two later, we were inseparable. And the chemistry only increased as things progressed. I could pass time with her effortlessly, no matter the context. All of our dates could’ve consisted of waiting in line at the DMV, and I still would’ve had a great time. We spent countless nights just doing what we referred to as “wining and whining” — venting about life over a couple glasses of red. We went on trips together, spent nights at my grandmother’s taking care of her after her knee surgery, and eventually we moved in together.
I’d call her an “emotionally constipated German” (even though she’s Lithuanian) because she would never say a word about missing me or how she felt about me — though showing up at my door every day for months on end made that plenty clear. She’s clever and always has something funny to say; she’s hyper-sexual, which will never be anything…
