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Money can't buy happiness, a camel will pass through the eye of a needle before a rich man will pass into the gates of heaven, true love conquers all, et al, ad nausaeum.

I've actually had rich guys try to buy me (recently!) with fancy gifts and trinkets. I've had men proposition me-no holds barred-with the line, "How would you like me to spoil you?" This is men's hidden code language for "How much money do I need for you to spend one night in the sack with me?" If you've ever been propositioned in this way, you know that it is a truly bizarre phenomenon. It's embarrassing, flattering, and humiliating all at the same time. But deep down, under all the stupid machismo, you can see the little boy hiding behind the curtains. Men and women may be very different, but when you refine their emotions down to their basic substance, you can see the formula revealed.

The very men that sexually proposition me (and other women) will never understand themselves or their own motives. Men in general are fairly incapable of emotional self-analysis. You might even say that men are retarded in this sense. Women, being generally less obtuse to the workings of the human mind, have an instinctive grasp of why we go through our lives desiring love.

True love is a belly laugh, a deep down gut wrenching guffaw that brings tears to your eyes when your mate says or does something extremely comical. True love is when you stand there and hug for the better part of ten minutes, for the sheer enjoyment of hugging. True love is symbiotic. True love is when Beldar the Conehead (played by Dan Aykroyd) says to his wife Prymaat (played by Jane Curtin) says "Without you my cone would shrivel . . . the stench would be great."
True love is when you look past the beer belly, the mood swings, the stupidity, and the financial disaster because you simply cannot help yourself. True love is realizing that you both are two different flavors of giant-pain-in-the-ass.

Everyone wants to have true love. By true love, I'm talking love like the kind that was depicted in the movie/novel The Notebook, love so deep that it nearly kills you, Tristan and Isolde type love, love that consumes everything in its wake. This is true love, not the watered-down Saltine cracker love depicted in sitcoms and reality shows.

True love is the Holy Grail of our society. Most Americans have a shot at financial security, some have a shot at celebrity, but only a handful in a group of millions will ever achieve true love. Womens' magazines will eternally detail outlines and plans for battle, promising a revelation of strategies to achieving true love with lines like, "Working on Your Relationship", "Secrets to Great Married Sex", and "Surviving His Extramarital Affair".

Chances are about one in a million that your parents had true love. Most people go through their lives pining for it, but are never lucky or patient enough to get it. Rich men like Donald Trump try to buy it, but end up with placidly pliant doll creatures who are quickly replaced with younger clones of their former selves. So true love simply passes by, because it is ephemeral by nature and doesn't wait on anyone. True love is alchemical fire, lightning in a bottle. Of course all people want it . . . its price is beyond rubies.

Learn more about this author, Nariko Yamata.
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