Two words: Lint Ball.
Take it from a man who has had precisely one and a half functional relationships in the last 24 years; I know what I’m talking about when it comes to the art of seduction. Success is no more a useful learning tool than failure, and although I’ve had my fair share of failures, I’d like to consider myself a man of moderate, occasional success. That is, “occasional” in an astronomical sense.
But allow me to regale you with the time I masterfully wove a relationship out of a lint collection.
It’s quite simple, really. It all started one day in college when all of my classes were cancelled and I had nothing to do. What better way to spend my time than to start collecting lint from the dormitory dryers?
You see, dryer lint has a special property when you soak it in water: it sticks to whatever you fling it at. You can try it yourselves at home! It’s pretty fun. Try flinging it at walls, ceilings, siblings, electronics – you name it! Sticks like a charm. My intention was to create a clump of lint so large such that when I soak it and heave it at an unsuspecting object, the sheer gravitational pull itself would result in permanence, and my mark would forever be left at UCLA. I now realize this is impossible (both creating an object so large, as well as being remembered for anything), but like most freshmen in college, I still clung to the ever-receding delusion of joy.
The more I raided dryers, the larger my ball grew, and eventually the goal of destroying it in a gooey, messy spectacle was forgotten. The ball itself became the goal. Day after day, I went from dorm to dorm, and after a while, I saw my ball develop into a symbol of campus life. If I could gather lint from every dorm and thus the hair of every resident, my ball would be a clothing residue and DNA representative of all of UCLA on-campus housing. It could be an ever-growing statue bestowed on the psyche of each individual. A picture of our society. A mirror of our collective souls.
If it got big enough, would people pray to it?
People started recognizing me in their hallways: “Hey! Everyone! Come look! It’s the Lint Guy!” Oh, the sweet tingling taste of often-elusive fame. I was notorious. That’s even better than famous.
Yet quickly my mind settled on a task even greater than creating Dorm-Lint Jesus: finding true love. A girl I fancied lived in a nearby building, and eventually I saw developing the lint ball as an excuse to spend time with her in the laundry room. Because this wasn’t weird at all, she would eventually let me know when she was doing laundry so I could add to Lint Ball. Joint laundry time would become a routine – she would do her laundry and I would collect lint from the dryers. Most importantly, it was our time together to chat with an excuse.
Eventually we dated, and throughout the relationship, I would continue to grow my lint ball out of principle, as if it was a symbol of our togetherness. The lint ball not only contained the entire pubic encyclopedia of 2006 UCLA on campus housing – it contained the history of our courtship and affection. I couldn’t destroy it.
Then we broke up. She left (or I left, depending on your perspective), but the Lint Ball remained. Oh yes, the Lint Ball. Finally. We were together at last, Oh sweet Lint Ball and I. There was no more third wheel – no more excuses. Just me and Lint Ball. Oh what a beautiful union – a most holy matrimony: a man and his past, collected in the sensually voluptuous form of a cushy sphere.
I still grow the Lint Ball. It sits in my closet, and on occasion we spend time together and we talk. We understand each other. There are no tears. No lust. No lying and deceiving. It’s pure, the way love should be.
I suppose the lesson of seduction is this: if you’re ever lonely and you find yourself out of luck with the ladies, start an obsession of some sort over an object that will never cheat on you. You never know what woman you’ll meet that will unknowingly force that obsession into true love.
Man and Thing forever. ❤