Elizabeth and George met eight years ago.

“I thought he was the most honourable, decent, thoughtful and compassionate guy I’d (ever) met … and that my search was over.”

The couple were happy for a while, but due to conflicting schedules and the fact that they were in different places in their lives, the relationship ended. Elizabeth had other serious relationships, but always compared them to her ex.

Fast forward to 2010. George sends Elizabeth a Facebook friendship request and his phone number. When she calls, he asks her out to dinner. The couple has since reunited and things are going well.

“We are more mature, less afraid and more confident,” Elizabeth says. “Dating other people made us realize what we had with each other.”

Jimmy Buffett called it Boomerang Love. But we’re not talking about that tiresome couple who break up and reconcile every few weeks -- seriously, get it together! This is about realizing, years later, that someone you were once with might have been The One.

Shannon and Doug met at a sporting arena where she worked as a hostess. “I was serving him and just thought he was gorgeous,” she recalls. “I was like, ‘Where’s my name tag because I don’t remember my name right now.’”

Doug was visiting from an American city, but the two exchanged contact information and eventually began a long-distance relationship.

It worked for a while. And then it didn’t.

Shannon distanced herself from Doug and started dating someone else, eventually marrying him. But she was never able to shake the memory of Doug.

“I thought about him on my wedding day,” she admits. “Just before I walked out, I wondered what he was doing.”

The marriage didn’t last. After Shannon filed for divorce, a random email from Doug rekindled their dormant friendship. The pair are now engaged and she’s moved her life to be with him.

“He is how people should treat other people in relationships. He’s chivalrous, he’s respectful and he loves me unconditionally. And he thinks that I’m the most beautiful woman in the whole entire world and I feel that every day.”

Life isn’t always a Disney princess movie, but sometimes it has a funny way of working itself out.

“Our hearts know what we need,” she says. “It just took me a little longer to realize that he was what my heart needed.”

Sofi Papamarko is a 20-something writer based in Toronto. Her heroes include Desmond Morris and Nancy Sinatra.

A few years ago, I met an elderly gentleman whose wife had recently passed away. He was moving into his late wife’s slightly larger apartment, which was adjacent to his own. He explained that, while they had dearly loved one another, they preferred to have separate living spaces. They opted to live alone, together.

Jay Smith, a Toronto-based writer, also lives separately from her partner.

“We both need a lot of space,” she explains. “Part of it is really constitutional, if you can call it that: I am a morning person, whereas Chris is not. I’m early to bed, he stays up late.”

Many have raised an eyebrow at the pair’s non-traditional living situation, especially since they have children (both kids live with mom).

“Most couples — and I certainly don’t fault people for this — subscribe to this notion of romantic love based on possession, constant companionship, and utter codependence,” she says.

“We’re getting better at recognizing, as a society, other forms of love, like love between two people of the same gender. But even then, that love is supposed to conform to the same mythos: Cohabitation, mutual codependency, a sort of soulmate-ful completion.”

Patrick (not his real name) is a single, 30-something professional who hopes to marry someday, but has no desire to cohabitate.

“I enjoy solitude,” he says. “It’s a powerful, useful ‘reset’ tool.”

But it isn’t as though his personal space is off-limits to his future wife.

“She does get a house key, and she’s always welcome,” he concedes.

“I don’t have any designs on an Andy Snitzer-style bachelor pad with frat house staples like PlayStations and Nerf basketball nets all over the place. It’s really not about skeletons in the closet, which is probably the first thing a person would think. It’s about my identity (and) having my own place to recharge my batteries after a good or bad day.”

What it comes down to for couples that choose to live independently of one another is enjoying the best of both worlds.

“What if we look for companions on our own terms, or the terms that work best for a particular couple?” Smith asks. “Well, in my case, some uncomfortable moments on the playground …”

Sofi Papamarko is a 20-something writer based in Toronto. Her heroes include Desmond Morris and Nancy Sinatra.

Bet you weren’t expecting to read an open letter to you in my column this week.

I know you’re a pretty private person and I certainly don’t want to embarrass you by telling all of these nice people too much about how wonderful you are. That said, I want to take this opportunity to admit a few things that I’d never be able to say in person.

Because I’m stubborn.

Listen, you’ve been right about a lot of things over the years. You’ve been right and I’ve been wrong. Enjoy this, because I will never again concede to any of these points, either publicly or privately.

(Unfortunately, due to Mother’s Day’s proximity to tax time, you’ll have to consider this your official present. Sorry.)

Ready? Here we go:

You were right to deny us a puppy. It would have grown into a dog. And the novelty would have worn off. And you’d have been the one wielding the pooper scooper, just like you always said.

You were right about piano lessons. Even though I whined and complained about practising every day for the entirety of my childhood and adolescence, I am glad that you forced us to learn how to play. Piano lessons taught me rhythm, emotion and patience — all things that I draw upon daily as a writer. Piano also instilled a lifelong appreciation for music. Thank you!

You were right about coasters.

You were right about mittens.

You were right about boys who don’t call their moms.

You were right about choosing my friends wisely. I am a happier and better person for having chosen kind, smart, funny, thoughtful and generous friends. Thank you for encouraging the good friendships and judiciously raising an eyebrow at undesirables.

You were right about washing lacy bras by hand.

You were right to be overprotective. There’s a lot of frightening stuff out there and there was no need for me to be exposed to any of it before I was ready.

You were right that choosing a partner will be the most important decision I’ll ever have to make. So … let me take my time.

You were right about spinach salad. (The jury is still out on broccoli salad.)

You were right about polka dots.

You are not right at all about pairing pantyhose with open-toed shoes, but nobody’s perfect.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Ti milvam, Tvoeto srce

Sofi Papamarko is a 20-something writer based in Toronto. Her heroes include Desmond Morris and Nancy Sinatra.

I’ve had some great ones over the years. Mrs. Metcalfe encouraged my creativity and allowed us to put on our own insane fifth-grade version of The Phantom Of The Opera. My middle school teacher, Miss Wilkinson, encouraged lively political debate and wept openly while reading us Sadako And The Thousand Paper Cranes. Mr. Chow’s dry sense of humour made the multiplication of fractions tolerable. And John Lazarus and I stayed in email touch years after I took his playwrighting course in university.

But it’s my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Williams, who will be my forever-favourite.

Mrs. Williams was kind, patient, fair, calm and much loved. She read us stories, taught us to count to 100 on an abacus and never once raised her voice. I remember her gentle amusement whenever one of us would slip up and call her “mom.”

A few weeks ago, I was unexpectedly reunited with Mrs. Williams. She looked like a smaller and greyer version of her very same self. The rush of emotion I felt at seeing her again surprised me.

For my friend Neil Pasricha, blogger and author of the freshly launched feel-good tome The Book Of Awesome, it was his third grade teacher who stood out above the rest.

“I was pretty much the shyest kid ever,” Pasricha recalls. “I hid behind pant legs, around corners, or even under my desk. I was massively quiet and kept to myself — barely a peep coming out of me all day long. Other teachers encouraged me to come out of my shell, but Mrs. Dorsman really yanked me out.”

Mrs. Dorsman encouraged Pasricha to read out loud to the class and had him solve math problems on the blackboard.

“Once I did some of the things she pushed me to ... I realized I could. She upped my confidence and turned me into (someone who was) slightly less wobbly and slightly more sure.”

Having recently read an article on The Book Of Awesome in the Toronto Star, Stella Dorsman contacted the author to see if he was the same Neil Pasricha she taught at Sunset Heights Public School. You can read their correspondence here: http://1000awesomethings.com (April 16th post).

Teaching is a difficult and often thankless job. If you’ve ever had a teacher who made a difference in your life, thank them. It will mean the world.

Sofi Papamarko is a 20-something writer based in Toronto. Her heroes include Desmond Morris and Nancy Sinatra.

The glut of engagement ring and wedding band options can be overwhelming. Princess or pear cut? Solitaire or sidestone? White gold or platinum? And do you really need to spend two months’ salary on a sparkly?

Many couples are opting for more affordable, ethical, ecological and original options. Here are a few alternatives to going the traditional ring route:

1. Re-purpose old jewelry. “Instead of a wedding band, I wear a ring that my parents gave me for my 13th birthday,” says Allison Outhit, who wed husband James in 2006. “It’s five small braided gold bands held together with a little clip. For me, it symbolizes the five members of my immediate family.” Rings with stories attached can be far more meaningful than new jewelry. If you’ve inherited an heirloom necklace or earrings, have a jeweler reset the gemstones into a band.

2. Buy ethically. “There’s nothing I can’t tell you about my jewelry,” says Ryan Taylor, proprietor of the Fair Trade Jewelry Co. (ftjco.com) in Toronto. Taylor designs rings with ethically-mined ore sourced from Colombia via Amichoco’s Oro Verde (Green Gold) program and uses Canadian diamonds exclusively. He encourages customers to do their research and ask a lot of questions. Taylor also suggests dealing with makers as opposed to salespeople.

“They’re passionate and they understand everything about their material. If you’re looking to get the next most significant purchase to a car, you should be getting that sort of service. You should walk out of a place knowing everything about (the ring) you just bought.”

3. Do whatever makes you happy. “Jay and I were this close to getting Batman wedding rings,” says writer Karla Pacheco. “Out of the SkyMall catalogue, no less — those fine purveyors of Lord Of The Rings inspired jewelry, executive phone chargers, and enormous stone Buddhas for the captive airline audience.” Pacheco and her fiancé eventually decided the Batman rings were a touch tacky. They scoured small jewelry shops in their neighbourhood the weekend before their wedding and opted for simple $75 bands. Says Pacheco, “At the end of the day, what they symbolize is more important than what they look like or what they cost.”

I constantly guard against offering too much of myself in this column. I know the circulation numbers. I know the score. I know that you, the person holding this paper, are likely a stranger.
That said, I am tempted to overshare online, lulled into a false sense of security that, on Facebook and Twitter, I am “among friends.”

My overshares are generally benign minutiae. (“This egg salad sandwich is so awesome!”) But many who overshare do it without a filter.

Chances are you would never tell a stranger on the bus about a graphic medical condition or the details of your divorce. And, yet, these are all things that people have shared on Facebook, on message boards and on their blogs.

What is it that compels us to overshare online?

“We are in an age where we repeatedly see the purported benefits of oversharing. I call it ‘peep culture,’” says Hal Niedzviecki, author of the recently published book The Peep Diaries: How We’re Learning To Love Watching Ourselves And Our Neighbors. 

“In pop culture, we are entertained by chosen celebrities who perform for us. In peep culture, we are entertained by random people around the world who let us peep into their lives. These are the friends, family, and strangers we spend time looking at on Facebook, blogs, YouTube, Twitter, Flickr, reality TV, Chatroulette, etc. The more we see (oversharers) being rewarded with attention, extended networks, even money and celebrity, the more it becomes natural for us to overshare and see if we, too, can enjoy some of the benefits…”

Oversharing is a way to get attention, certainly (See: Tila Tequila). But what about those who use social media to rally support during a difficult time? And what if that information falls into less-than-kind hands?

“It’s a dangerous thing to use your life and other people’s lives as mass media entertainment,” says Niedzviecki. “It becomes very easy to forget that these are real people with real lives ... what they say and do, and what you say and do in response, can really hurt them. We’re extending a natural human tendency — to share, to reach out and connect with others — into a very unnatural space…”

Before broadcasting your life, consider the consequences of offering pieces of yourself to anyone who will listen.

I was recently approached in the middle of a mall in the middle of the day. Romeo invaded my personal space, dropped alternately flattering and suggestive comments and generally made me feel uncomfortable.

Before slinking away, he gave me his phone number. (It has since been circular filed.) Without a doubt, this was the work of a pick-up artist.

Pick-up artists are a subculture of men who liken dating to a sporting event. The objective? Score as many touchdowns as humanly possible.

While I take issue with many of these real-life Leisure Suit Larrys, I do have to give them a little credit. There is one thing these men are doing right.

They are talking to women.

But how can decent, relationship-seeking dudes meet women without being lumped in with methodical sleazebags?

Here are some pointers from me and my babe friends:

• Talk to women in bars, cafes, restaurants, book stores and at social events. Try not to corner us on the street, on public transit (where there is no easy means of escape) or when we’re clearly busy

• Say Hi. If we respond curtly and our body language makes it obvious that we would prefer to be alone, leave

• Referring to women as “fine females” won’t earn you any brownie points, lady-killer

• Neither will hitting on the friend of a woman who just rejected your advances

• Ask open and thoughtful questions. “How are you doing this evening?” will absolutely fail. “Nice button, I like that band, too. Have you ever seen them live?” is a conversation-starter

• Sexual innuendo within the first few minutes of meeting = ick

• Manners are sexy (eyes up here, gents!)

• Don’t ask for our number right off the bat — this is something you earn

• We like sincere compliments

• We like it when you listen

• Do not touch us (unless we touch you first)

• Flirting with a stranger you find attractive and intriguing is cool. Pouncing, serial-style, on a multitude of ladies? Not so super cool.

There you have it, fellas. Free advice! And all the money you’ve just saved on how-to books and classes can be spent on buying dinner for a smart and pretty girl.

Every wedding I’ve attended has been special in its own way. But some stand out more than others.
If there were Olympics-style scoring in place for weddings, they would be ranked using the following criteria:

1. Company
2. Emotion
3. Quality of food
4. Overall memorability
5. A distinct lack of “The Chicken Dance”

I went to a wedding that scored off the charts this past weekend. The best part was that I didn’t even know it was happening.

My dear friend, Lindsay, invited family and close friends to celebrate her boyfriend Lee’s birthday at a French bistro. The couple are expecting a baby next month and were making a big deal out of this particular birthday because, in Lee’s words, it would be the last time they’d ever be seen in public.

Before the main course, Lee stood up to make a speech. He thanked everyone for coming and casually announced that he and Lindsay had gotten married earlier that day.

The birthday celebration suddenly became something else.

It’s a wedding that I will remember much more vividly than all of the evenings featuring taffeta, extravagant floral arrangements, smoke machines and cheesy DJs playing Kool and the Gang.

There was no cake. No dance floor. No ice sculptures. No bridesmaids. But none of these trappings were missed.

Because this low-key affair had everything that makes a wedding great: The wine flowed. The food was gorgeous. The bride looked beautiful in a black maternity dress that she scored for 50 per cent off and a string of pearls with sentimental value. The speeches were tearful and sincere. And most importantly, the couple were surrounded by 25 people who love them.

Days later, I still well up whenever I think about it. It was perfectly imperfect. It was the best wedding I have ever attended and I will remember it for as long as I live.

Those of you planning weddings might fall into the trap of mistaking frills for needs. It’s not a competition. It’s about doing it in a way that makes you happy and reflects your personalities. Get married the way you want (if you choose to get married at all) and it can’t be anything but wonderful.

Let me explain.

I recently posted a flattering profile photo that a friend took of me at his birthday party. Within a few minutes, the comments came flooding in. “Luminous!” one friend wrote. “Stunning!” insisted another. “Behold the ADORABLE,” offered an old school chum. Real-time Sofi beamed, basking in this onslaught of cyber compliments.

Now, I am not “stunning.” Not by any stretch of the imagination. That said, I am more than OK with my looks, but would place them in the “average to mildly foxy” range. What my lovely Facebook friends and acquaintances were doing, whether they meant to or not, was acting as a chorus of Yes Men.

Yes Men are the managers, the proteges and the hangers-on of celebrities (not that I am a celebrity —hear me out). Yes Men never say “No!” or “Wrong!” or “Bad!” The celebrity’s every whim is satisfied. Every opinion (no matter how ignorant or flat-out crazy) is validated.

Even the most idiotic actions are rewarded with a pat on the head. This is why former child stars are, for the most part, certifiable messes; their versions of reality are tragically skewed.

When you leave a flattering comment on a friend’s Facebook profile, you are stroking their ego, celebrity-style. This can be a good thing. It strengthens the bonds of your friendship and makes the recipient feel loved, appreciated and/or validated. But after months and years of Facebook compliments, of gold stars, of LIKES THIS … we may start to lose touch with reality ourselves.

The reality is this: Not everything you do is awesome.

Sorry to be the one to break it to you. I mean, I’m sure you’re really great and everything, but we’ve already seen that YouTube video a million times and no one cares to know which stupid crops you harvested on FarmVille.

Presumably, everyone on Facebook is a friend or fond acquaintance. Meaning that most of your interactions will be positive. So here’s a wacky thought: We should start adding enemies and acrimonious exes to Facebook! That way they can drop the odd, “My new boyfriend/girlfriend is way hotter and smarter than you. Also, why do you update your status every five minutes? Shut your virtual pie-hole already!”

Sometimes a heavy dose of perspective can be good.

In high school, friendship tended to be a situational thing. If you were into sports, you played field hockey and generally stuck with the jocks. If you were a burnout, you’d hang out with other kids who wore Pink Floyd T-shirts and bummed cigarettes from each other by the bus shelter. If you were bookish and unpopular, you joined the student newspaper to meet like-minded nerds, played trumpet in the school band and whittled away many a lunch hour reading plays in the library (slowly raises hand). In high school, the people pool was so small that our friends were essentially selected for us.

University changed things. Suddenly, nerds were cool and up was down and the playing field was level and there were thousands of diverse and interesting people happily willing to be your friend. Some of them had even heard of Pavement!

Adulthood broadens the friendship base even more. You meet people at work, at social events and through other friends.

Of course, it takes effort to maintain a friendship, and once you reach a satisfactory level of friendship saturation, it’s time to stop watering the weeds.

There are two ways to end a friendship. There’s the ever-popular “friendship fade” where you just drift apart and lose touch, sometimes for no particular reason. Some friendships just reach their logical conclusion. You’re hanging out with different people. You don’t have anything in common anymore. Your priorities have shifted. Often, both friends realize this simultaneously and slacken the rope.

There is also the “friend divorce” — a far more dramatic end to a friendship. The end can come in an argument, a vicious phone call or a curt email, quick and violent. I have had two messy friend divorces in my lifetime. After the guilt faded, I felt freer and happier and was better able to focus on the friendships that I most value.

Initiating friendship divorce proceedings does not make you a bad person. And it certainly does not mean that your soon-to-be-divorced friend is a bad person. But if you find yourself spending time with someone who is toxic to your well-being and the time that you spend together exhausts more than it buoys, it’s probably an act of kindness to you both to cut them loose.

If you’re like me, the answer is: “Nothing. Ever again.”

After a decade of disappointing December 31sts, I’m tempted to hole up with some DVDs, order a pizza and hit the sack at 12:01AM.

It pains me to admit this, but my parents have been right all along.

I have paid ridiculous sums of money to be wedged into packed bars that felt more like saunas. I have parted with $15 for a watered-down martini. I have seen flimsy high-heeled shoes fall victim to ice and sleet. I have suffered as bone-chilling winds whipped my bare legs during failed attempts at hailing taxis.

I have been a fool.

I have had enough.

I am over New Year’s Eve.

I’ve come to the realization that my fondest NYE memories are those low-key evenings I spent with people I care about.

1991: Watching Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve with my folks after going out to Red Lobster (fanciest!), sipping “bubbly” (Canada Dry … the champagne of ginger ales, I’ll have you know), giddy to be staying up past my bedtime.

2000: Hanging out in a dear friend’s basement. Mixing Mountain Dew and tequila (with predictably unfortunate results). Mortal Kombat. Junk food. Laughing until we cried.

2004: A sedate cocktail party in Kingston, Ont. Hors d’oeuvres. Quiet laming out. A chaste kiss shared with my university boyfriend at midnight.

Other December 31sts blend together. Nights when midnight came too swiftly and too soberly. Unholy stress fests. And sh*t shows I’d sooner forget.

Tonight, droves of people will descend upon the hotspots of downtown Toronto to indulge in bottle service, lose their friends in crowds, pick fights, shriek in the streets and vomit on Blue Night buses.

I will not be among them.

I may head to an intimate potluck with some lovelies. I may embrace my inner hermit and head to bed at a reasonable hour. I may end up doing both.

So what if my plans aren’t epic, expensive, or even exciting? It’s just another night.

I hope that wherever you’re off to tonight, you’ll be with your favourite people. Because if you’re going to have a brutal night (and, let’s face it, this is highly likely), it’s probably a good idea to divide the brutality among people you love.“

We’re all social chameleons. The way we act around our colleagues is very different from the way we act around our friends. Due to prescribed expectations, we don’t generally have the opportunity to get to know our co-workers until we’re outside the restrictive office environment.

Enter: The office Christmas party.

At a recent holiday shindig for a company I freelance for, a buzzed colleague and I bonded over our mutual infatuation for music from the 1960s. I met the sparkling, chatty fiancée of a quiet co-worker. And I gaped in awe as a respectable higher-up dropped to his knees during Boney M’s Rasputin and proceeded to entertain us with some scarily proficient Russian dance moves.

What. In. The. Heck?

Who are these people that we spend so many of our waking hours in the presence of? We know their names, their positions and what they eat for lunch, but their personal lives, preferences and real personalities are, for the most part, a mystery. That is until it’s time to party!

“At parties, some people believe that the normal rules that govern the identities they have negotiated with one another are relaxed,” explains social psychology Prof. William B. Swann.

“The boss who is ordinarily chilly with her subordinates may feel that she can warm up, or co-workers who are normally competitive with one another may be persuaded to ignore this and try to relax and enjoy one another. Alcohol can exaggerate these tendencies by lowering social inhibition and making people more open to experimenting with identities that they would not dream of assuming while sober.”

But mistletoe and tumblers of extra-special eggnog among co-workers is potentially problematic.

“The downside of suspending the identity negotiation process for parties is that it can be difficult to revert back to the original identity,” says Swann. “This will be particularly true if the party atmosphere encourages us to reveal something that could poison a relationship (e.g., hostility or inappropriate attraction).”

True, you may never look at Janice from accounts receivable in the same way ever again (cheap drunk, opera hobbyist), but anything that reveals the humanity of those around us probably isn’t such a bad thing.

Unfortunately, not everyone shares this superpower. And sometimes, wonderful people get romantically involved with the deeply unworthy. Over the years, I have regrettably had several pals pair up with arrogant, ignorant, ambition-free jerk festivals.

It’s a tricky position to be in, hating the partner of a friend. Faking enthusiasm and friendliness when you’re forced to share the same airspace gets old. It’s not easy, biting your tongue until it bleeds.

Several years ago, I met a close friend’s boyfriend for the first time. He picked us up in his car and promptly sparked a joint behind the wheel. He later yelled at an elderly relative, accusing her of stealing his liquor.

It was a banner Friday night.

My friend is no longer with this boy. This was a decision she made on her own. It was not influenced by the fact that her family/friends were clearly not fans.

When people fall in love, the flaws of their partners tend to be muted because they are thoroughly wrapped up in a magical world of puppies and kittens and butterflies and red velvet cupcakes and baby birds made out of marzipan.

It’s a huge risk to let a friend know that you don’t approve of their significant other. For some, anyone who does not love their lover becomes The Enemy. Logic and emotion are like oil and water. Speaking up about your reservations is a quick and easy way to make a friendship super awkward. Or end it.

For some, dating someone sub-par is preferable to being single. It’s like a sad game of musical chairs; people scrambling to grab the nearest available chair, utterly terrified of being the one left standing.

But those with strong senses of self are fine to stand for a few rounds. Why rush to sit in a crappy chair that will give you splinters and quite possibly collapse?

If your particular “chair” is the product of shoddy craftsmanship, chuck it to the curb. Because somewhere, there is a kick-ass heated orthopedic chair with a built-in massage mechanism and a lifetime guarantee that’s got your name on it.

Two acquaintances got engaged. My best friend from the third grade got married. And a former colleague got divorced — for the second time. I know these things, not because I’ve spoken to them recently. I know these things because of Facebook.

I’m fascinated by what people choose to share about their romantic lives on the Internet.  Some are coy, secretive. Others define themselves by their relationship, blogging ceaselessly about significant others or leaving their wedding portrait up as their Facebook profile picture for months, if not years.

It’s another kind of PDA (public display of affection). Changing your Facebook status to In a Relationship is the new Making Out on Park Benches.

But once you’ve gone public and shared your happiness with several hundred of your closest friends, what happens if your relationship ends?

I’ve only met Lauren White a couple of times, but I feel like I’ve known her forever. Her blog, Raymi The Minx (www.raymitheminx.com), has amassed an impressive following over the years. On my computer screen, she is a stunning, unsmiling woman who painstakingly documents minutiae like new outfits, found objects and elaborate meals. In person, she is sweet and smiley, funny and friendly. Her partner, Phil, was the handsome photographer who made her into his muse. Online, they appeared a perfect hipster power couple.

When I discovered that Raymi and Phil had recently ended their engagement, I felt like I had learned of the breakup of two close friends. And given the scads of supportive e-mails she received and posted on her site, I wasn’t alone.

Phil and Raymi were fun-loving and photogenic online, but real life was another matter:
“we acted beautifully together for everyone else but us. while alone it was stretches of silences for hours in our own little online worlds until it became dark then we’d get ready and go out to whateverthef--- was going on that nite.”

The Ballad of Raymi and Phil can be taken as a cautionary tale. In our full-disclosure world, we should be mindful that sharing intimate details of our lives means that we will have an audience when it all falls apart.

Go ahead and flaunt your relationship online. Just make sure it’s as great in real life as it looks on paper (or in pixels). Because it’s better for you to be genuinely happy than for us to believe you are.

Your long-distance relationship is going well. University life is just a big fluffy cakewalk with vanilla frosting and a million cherries on top.

Until you head home for Thanksgiving.

“Listen,” he says. “We need to talk.”

It’s called the Turkey Dump. Like the delicious fowl for which it is named, the Turkey Dump is a clumsy and vicious beast. And you are now among its casualties.

Once upon a time, high school sweethearts married as a matter of course. This has since become something of an anomaly; only the strongest of high school relationships can withstand post-secondary education.

Let’s face it: colleges and universities are essentially alcohol-fuelled sex buffets. Lectures and assignments fit in there someplace, sure, but for the most part, you’ve got a small geographical area crammed with thousands of open-minded young people who have recently acquired a taste for freedom. And tequila.

Not to suggest that campus life is a modern-day version of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Post-secondary students are generally intelligent and responsible — that’s how they got there in the first place. It’s just that they’re surrounded by a lot of eye candy. A lot of beer. A lot of flirting. And if they are in a relationship, a lot of temptation. (Nobody brings a sandwich to a buffet.)

“Attending university is a developmental transition,” says Dita Everett, clinical psychologist at the University of Toronto. “It is a period of greater autonomy both academically and socially, and such autonomy invites an exploration of identity. Many have argued that we only come to know ourselves through our relationships with others, and this is a time for experimenting in that arena. “

Everett encourages students who are having difficulty dealing with the end of a relationship to make full use of the resources available to them.

“(It’s) important to normalize and to anticipate the kind of emotions that students often feel in the aftermath of a break-up,” Everett says. “Supporting and exploring such feelings through counselling is an entirely appropriate use of a university counselling service.“

Maybe the dreaded Turkey Dump is a blessing in disguise. It gives the freshly single student the opportunity to focus on their studies, get to know new people and learn about themselves. And that’s what higher education is all about.

My parents have lived there for more than 15 years and I still don’t know the names of our next-door neighbours on one side. Not an uncommon occurrence in major cities.

It’s even worse in apartment and condo buildings, these people-hives that often lack common areas or senses of community.

We’ve become so guarded. In this age of guerrilla sales pitches and religious solicitors, friendly chit-chat is frequently met with suspicion. Being in an elevator with other people is a study in awkwardness. It seems so much easier to just keep to ourselves.

Good fences make good neighbours, true, but we’ve built up brick walls.

Even those who married women a mere seven to nine years younger were 11 per cent less likely to expire early. One possible reason for this phenomenon is that younger women select healthier, better-maintained older men as mates.

“Another theory is that a younger woman will care for a man better and therefore he will live longer,” said institute spokesman Sven Drefahl. Or maybe waking up next to a sweet young thing every morning gives the older gent a little extra get-up-and-go.

In a strange and almost vampiric twist, the same study indicated that women who marry older men actually increased their likelihood of an early death. Perhaps caring for a silver fox can get a little, umm, old.

When it comes to reproduction, females invest nine months, plus 18 or so years of child rearing. Men invest approximately nine minutes. That women are more discerning than men about their choice of mate seems logical. But a new study published in Psychological Science puts this idea through the wringer.

In their study on romantic selectivity, Eli J. Finkel and Paul Eastwick put a fascinating spin on the activity of speed dating. Generally, women are seated during speed-dating events while men rotate around the room, a trend that likely stems from the social construct that men typically initiate approach. Finkel and Eastwick experimented by also having the women rotate while the men remain seated. 

At the end of the sessions, they had the participants indicate their levels of interest in the people they “dated.” The results were surprising. No matter the gender, the Rotaters demonstrated a higher interest in the people they approached than the Sitters demonstrated in the people who approached them.

Wait, what?

“It’s true that we approach people when we’re interested in them,” Finkel told Metro via email. “A more subtle effect is that the mere act of approaching people makes us interested in them.

Our bodies influence our mind in mysterious ways, and one of them is this effect of physically approaching on romantic attraction … perhaps women tend to be choosier than men because they (women) are much less likely to engage in physical pursuit — for example, by approaching a man in a bar.”

Approaching someone increases adrenaline, confidence and triggers a host of other physiological and psychological reactions the person being approached does not share.

Don’t let this study deter you from chatting up the dreamy dreamboat of your dreams, however.

As The Great One once said: “You miss 100 per cent of the shots you don’t take.” But maybe the next time you’re interested in someone, you can beckon them over, seated comfortably at your table all the while.