If the Atlantic Monthly (and most modern media) is to be believed, love and marriage are just one big crapshoot where the majority of participants are miserable and the entire enterprise is doomed to fail. As an American, nay, as an American woman, it seems you are basically entitled to play your hand, but with all the stats riding against you, you may as well settle for whatever you can manage to get, bearing in mind that one day you too will be a statistic.

The decline of marriage, and even love in general, seems to me, to be  evident everywhere. Divorce and tales of love gone awry saturate media outlets. It’s in the well established newspapers, in the stuffy periodicals, and of course it’s in the tabloids. JEN AND BRAD! ANGIE AND BRAD! BRAD AND BRAD! IS IT TOO LATE FOR JON AND KATE? IS IT JON AND KATE AND HATE? SPEIDI SEPARATES! TOMKAT AT AN END! LILO AND SAM FINISHED! I can’t even f*cking check out what Beyonce and the other Hollywood fatties are wearing in US Weekly without being subjected to tearful ruminations on the end of very deep relationships based on a mutual love of cocaine and bulimia.    

 Ever loving f*ck, it’s even in tearful separation/divorce announcements on blogs (something I have more or less avoided on my own blog by giving myself the “out” of never having been married). Everyone, everywhere seems to be separating, falling aparting and divorcing. And everyone, everywhere seems reasonably certain that one day, at one point, you’ll be doing it too.

Can you imagine what’s going to happen if the Obamas’ marriage falls apart? I’m pretty certain they’re the only thing holding the fabric of our country’s collective love lives together.  

Anyway, I am on Relationship Death Overload, which is like Social Networking Overload, except it concerns having to hear about everyone else’s trial separation. And let  me tell you, it is scaring my sphincter straight up into my gullet. Is it any wonder I want to crawl under the sheets, put my love life on permanent pause and go to bed till I hit menopause? The very thought of marriage, or hell, a relationship, makes me want to pop a kegger of anti-anxiety medications and book the first non-Air France flight out to a remote nunnery.   

Oh, and the theories. Let’s not forget the theories. Just like everyone everywhere seems to be certain that you’ll be riding your connubial handbasket straight to divorce court, everyone everywhere knows exactly what did you/them/everyone in (or will do you in) and they want to tell you about it. For what purpose, I still can’t comprehend. Maybe so you’ll be ever vigilant against The End (my friend), make reasonable accomodations and manage to delay the inevitable by 7.5 years and .5 children. Or maybe to give you a sense of comfort as you ponder the blood on the tracks. Either way, people want you to know and I’ve been anxiously (and neurotically) reading ALL ABOUT IT.

There are two separate camps in the permanent relationship estrangement theory. I describe these separately as a 1) Women Not Knowing Their Place and 2) Instrinsic Institutional Weaknesses. Conservatives and shrill talk radio talk show hosts tend to cling to the first while Feminists, Liberals and Tv talk show hosts tend to cluster around the latter.

They both come to the same conclusion. You’re f*cked.

Coming Up:

Part II: Across the Camps. What everyone has to say about why you should be saving up a nest egg for a good divorce lawyer.