Trading Spaces

This morning I got a text from a close friend of mine, whom for anonymity's sake, I will call 'Wayne':
"I can honestly say I've never been picked up at school...Until now."

Naturally, I was happy for my friend, and proceeded with the expected response: "Who is he? Is he yummy?" Etc.

Wayne fills me in on the details: The guy works in the Dean's office, he's a redhead, blah blah blah. He also expresses his concerns, such as "I fear he's a Chelsea gay, though. And he's young."

While I may be in a committed relationship, I still think like a slut (an Ethical one, of course) and I say "Dude, you don't need to marry him. Just tap it."

Wait...when did I start talking like an episode of Queer As Folk?

Wayne chuckled at the way I think like a slut (an Ethical one) and he sees nothing but white picket fences. I don't want to say the grass is always greener, because my boyfriend's grass is pretty damn green, but our views on love and sex definitely counter each other. I still miss many elements of my single life, and am often envious of his cruisy tales. Meanwhile, he's over the cruisy tales, and wants a boyfriend badly, and of course, that's what I've got.

Why does it always work this way? Why do the guys who don't really care to date always find someone special, and those who do want someone special are always shit outta luck? I wanted a boyfriend horribly for my first three years in New York, and as soon as I was happy in my singularity, TA-DAH! Boyfriend! I know better than anyone that desperation is incredibly unsexy, and have steered away many a man with this terrifying turn-off. But Wayne is not desperate, and deserves a lovely man to call is own. So why can't he find one? Is just seems disgustingly unfair.