The whole idea of love to me seems too predictable. You meet her through a friend, at a party, a dinner, a park or a blood donation drive. You like her first mostly, coz we guys know how to admire beauty. You make the first move, coz of course perversion mixed with desperation can make even Humpty Dumpty Usain Bolt. Then you spend time together, and she mostly talks, and you merely observe and that’s got nothing to do with what she is talking about. One thing leads to another and the very prospect of physical closure usually expressed in three simple words “I love you” seals the deal for you.

You kiss, hug and then go the extra mile, mostly in a “protective” environment. Then time starts flying faster than an F-22, and before you know it, it’s your first “when we first talked anniversary”, followed by “when we first held hands” and the likes which you completely forget.