My role in the dating world has more or less been that of a spectator. Professionally single, I have oft been appointed the honor, nay, the responsibility, to offer sage advice as to why he/she said that or why he/she did this, and so on and so forth. I have gathered much information in my field research that has probably inspired me to tiptoe back a few inches from those who may have been prospective boyfriends, and run for the hills from those that may have been prospective ex-boyfriends. I believe my wisdom has stationed me in the wise post of the single friend. I am perfectly alright with this. I don’t have to answer to anyone, and I certainly don’t have to worry about sharing the covers. My wisdom has brought me here to elucidate upon a particularly fascinating observation of mine.

The Pottery Barn relationship.

A relationship of purely ornamental standards, it is the final stage of practically any quintessential college relationship. See, these things proceed in stages. Much like the metamorphosis of a butterfly, or the stages of death by necrosis, everything has a process.

The first stage is always the fervent fuck fest. You know it to be true. After as many dates as it took you to hit a home run, you’re suddenly on the war path to steal every spare moment you can spend together. You can hardly keep your hands off of each other, and in long absences you must keep constant contact. You carry on like two tiny woodland animals, neurotically assuring yourself of the other’s existence as many times a day as you can muster. Who knows? Your new significant other could become road kill at any moment. Love or hate the analogy, it’s the best part of any relationship. You’re crazy about what’s-his-name, and you’re positive that his constant dirty text messages are a sign that he’s just as crazy about you. This stage has a shelf life of about two to three months.

After this comes the second stage: the comfortable stage. The fervor has, for the most part, subsided. You can still get all hot and bothered about each other, but now you’re a little more interested in quiet evenings in. The quality of the sex has not diminished, and you’ve just gotten the hang of sleeping in the same bed together. It is implicit that you will go dutch on every dinner, and the two of you no longer dress to impress. This is the cutest stage of every relationship. Where the real feelings cultivate, the familiarity takes root—where you finally get comfortable enough to fart in each other’s presence.

This is also where you get past how absolutely spectacular you think what’s-his-face is and really begin to notice things like “Man, he smells sometimes,” or “Why is there so much fucking hair in the shower after he’s done?” You really start to zero in on their bad habits and vices. What you do from this point really just kind of depends on what kind of person you are. In a perfect romance, you would accept their faults as quirks comparable in charm to their better qualities, but let’s face it, we are college students. We are fucked up in our continuing development as people, and most of us have no idea what we want. Do you want to settle for smelly hair in the shower? Or do you want to strive for that non-existent perfect man? The man who is dashing, romantic and can somehow pee with the seat down leaving it completely dry. Such things are myths, and yet we strive. This stage will probably trudge on for anywhere between four to six months.

The next is the brief, no holds barred third stage. At this point, you are comfortable enough to swing punches. Verbal punches, of course. You begin to take each others’ feelings for granted due to your solidly established familiarity. You will fight, you will take breaks, you will break up at least once, and get back together in feeble defeat. You become miserable, but attached.

The next stage is the Pottery Barn stage. Yes, here it is. Now, I am describing this from my female standpoint. Take your liberties to adapt it.

At some point, you’re used to the fact that the two of you are using each other for vestiges of intimacy and desperate emotional salvation. You become ornamental. You devolve a bit from boyfriend to boy-fern.

Ferns are useless potted household decorations that demand little care or correspondence, and a certain distance which is perfectly acceptable. Such is your other. He is there to remind you that you have, or once had, the emotional capacity to maintain a relationship, healthy and functioning, or not. Either way, he’s still there, slightly brightening your windowsill though wilting every now and again, begging your benevolence and attention. Just like the household fern is a mere shadow of the enormous majestic ferns of the rainforest, your boyfriend is now a souvenir to remind you of something that could have been greater. Icarus may signify for most relationships. They stop short of excellence and fall to shambles.

With regular watering and care, your boy-fern will sustain himself in your already failed relationship for several months in fear of being lonely or upsetting you. Sure, he may be unhappy as well, but damn if he’ll ever do anything about it. He is perfectly content merely decorating your life, rather than having any real part in it.

Eventually, both parties will have had enough and muster the mercy to cut the life support. I could go through the stages of post-relationship fraternization, if the relationship wasn’t bleak enough for you, but I’m pooped. Now, I’m not the dating grinch. Boys can make me smile and, once in a while, I have sex. But I am, for the most part, thankful to be single. I count it among my blessings that I am on an indefinite vacation from relationships. Sometimes the pros outweigh the cons, and sometimes it’s the other way around. The single life has kept my head clear, for the most part, and I don’t regret it one bit.

Now, are all relationships like this? Certainly not. Are most? You bet. Everyone learns their most valuable lessons about intimacy, relationships and other people from their most miserable and oppressive relationship. Hence, they are valuable in some way. I have learned lessons that have been both priceless and painful, and I am also bitterly thankful for these.

But for the time being? I will be shopping for potted plants.