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Regularly dating young women in their nubile prime and having long-term relationships with some of them can provide unexpected jolts of depressing reality delivered through ordinary objects that provoke intense bouts of rumination.

Most modern couples have photos of themselves from the time they first met, usually of them hanging out, all smiles, with a group of friends. The pre-relationship photo montage is a peculiarity of the digital photography age; photos of couples spontaneously enjoying each other’s company in the dawning of their love would have been much rarer before the camera phone became ubiquitous. This is why you hardly have any photos of your young parents or grandparents drinking in a bar with their friends celebrating some urban slut’s birthday. It used to be that couples’ photos pretty much began and ended with their marital careers.

I’m thinking of this seemingly trivial sexual market phenomenon as I write this post. More than once when I’ve been balls deep in a relationship I’ve been stopped in my tracks by a passing glance at an early photograph of the both of us that my lover had framed and prominently displayed on a dresser or somesuch. I’d look at this photo and even if it was taken only a year earlier I could discern the greater glow of youth in her appearance to what she exuded in the present. For most women, three years difference is enough to notice the quick fade of their late teens-to-mid 20s youthful allure, and the noticing becomes worse the further past prime nubility she has time traveled.

The photo juxtaposes tragically with a man’s greater SMV longevity compared to women’s SMV lifespan. This is the curse that shadows any man who has skin flute in the game; if you are still capturing and amplifying flirty vibes from fresh cleft, then that haunting “pre-relationship photo” with your steady will have you questioning whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the schwing-less sorrows of restricted options, or to take arms against diverging values, and by leaving reset them.

This was an ugly post, but it needed saying, because the world has become a playground for platitude pushers, and more than ever the services of borderline sadists are required to fight back against the plying of the lies. The feminized West needs this Chateau reminder of the tremendous unheralded sacrifice that men make when they commit to one woman…a sacrifice that isn’t measurable by econometric formulae or social science r-squareds, but that is just as significant as the sacrifice women make for motherhood or soldiers make for their country.

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