On Romeo, Juliet, and Gas.

I believe in soul mates. But that doesn't mean that I like the idea.

I think that we all long for the sort of instant, cosmic connection with another person that is implied by the very term "soul mate". Of course, it doesn't hurt if the other person has smoldering eyes and full, moist lips. But I don't know if having a soul mate would really make life better for anyone. Romeo and Juliet come to mind. Cleopatra and Antony. Helen and Paris. Tracy and Hepburn.

I guess that my main problem with soul mates is that they seem so fragile and tenuous, dependent upon perfection. Maybe a soul mate is a crystal figurine - a unicorn or a seahorse or something equally romantic and fanciful - something that you have to keep behind a glass door to protect from clumsy, curious fingers.

What happens when your soul mate farts? I bet that would kill a lot of the mystery and intrigue. Which is why I question the wisdom of searching for your soul mate. There's a lot of pressure inherent in finding him or her. Is it really healthy to hold all of those repellant smells in for so long? Just for the sake of true love? I bet Juliet would have never killed herself if she'd gotten a whiff of Romeo after he'd devoured a big batch of beef and bean nachos.

I think that perhaps there is a plane just beneath the plane of soul mates. Maybe there's no thunderbolt or lightning that signifies the start of some magical romance, but, on the other hand, if your stomach is already bothering you, you don't have to pretend it isn't just for the sake of appearances.

(If none of this makes sense, please note the time. And keep in mind that I'm only writing because the cat keeps trying to sleep on my face.)