16 out of 23. That’s how many wedding anniversaries my husband remembered. Oh sure he made it up on our 10^th anniversary when he gave me a pair of diamond stud earrings big enough for a butterfly to choke on, but meh – my record on this matter is actually worse.

For the forgetful, a good strategy is to stick to giving the traditional symbolic gifts. On our fifth anniversary – wood, I fished out a pencil from the kitchen drawer. Sixth – candy, a loose stick of gum. Seventh, I remembered. Eighth – pottery, an ashtray I made at pottery class. Ninth – pottery again, the same ashtray only rewrapped. He stopped me at nine which was too bad as I was saving up for our eleventh – steel, he didn’t really need that Ferrari anyways.

But the one occasion my husband been 23 for 23 is Valentine’s Day. Maybe it’s because the shops are awash in pink hearts and fluttering cupids the weeks before or maybe it’s because the sofa just doesn’t provide  the best night’s sleep, whatever, I know there’ll be flowers and a big box of non-discounted chocolates waiting for me on that day.

February 14^th puts smiles on millions of people’s faces, and that’s just the merchants because Valentine’s Day is the unenviable obstacle course of romance men engage in annually. Ask any guy what his favorite holiday is and few will choose the day in which he’s expected to shell out half a day’s pay for a dozen roses and an overpriced set dinner accompanied by a glass of cheap champagne.

Not surprisingly, the origins of Valentine’s Day has nothing to do with romance or unrequited love or even a day to remember to put the toilet seat down. The unsubstantiated reports include painful martyrdom and reversed crucifixion. It was Geoffrey Chaucer, an English poet in the 14^th century who was first credited with associating romance with Valentine’s Day. Hand written valentines followed later in the 18^th century and good old American enterprise ramped the holiday up beginning in the 20th century when, flowers, chocolates and jewelry joined the mix.  But what has stayed constant through the ages is that while valentines are traded between lovers, family and friends, the main recipient of the day is the lady.

For women, Valentine’s Day is our day of acknowledgement, of appreciation, of gratitude. Unlike anniversaries which are sometimes forgotten or birthdays which lose their celebratory nature as our bits and pieces surrender to gravity; Valentine’s Day to a woman says “You are desirable”. Thus, men walk a tight-rope for what is given is taken as a gauge of their love. Too little and it’s the silent treatment. Too much and the expectations get higher and higher year after year.

So how to choose the right gift? The one that says “I love you” without your needing to eat instant ramen noodles for the next month? Breakfast in bed is nice but a diamond is better. A backrub is comfortable but a diamond is better. Doing all the household chores for a day is good but a diamond is better. Let’s face it, this day will not pass without you pulling out your wallet and remember, a diamond is better. So give your woman her due, of all the days of the year, this is the one when she wants to hear from you that’s she’s beautiful and believe it.

And if you should one up empty-handed and sheepishly excuse yourself with the phrase” But what could I get for the woman who has everything?” Expect her answer to be “I’ll give you a list”.

Grade school homework is every parent’s nightmare. It’s second only to a parent’s worst nightmare which is after paying for 3 years of college, room and board your kid decides to switch majors, start again and proceeds to empty out your retirement fund.

Last year students from a host of countries were given a standardized international test and to everyone’s surprise Shanghai came out on top. Beating out Singapore, South Korea and Germany, it was an even wider margin between China and the United States. Close on the heels of the report was the brouhaha over Tiger Mom Amy Chua’s article “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior” and suddenly Chinese parents were painted as a nation of Captain Bligh’s; hard-hearted taskmasters who rewarded their little charges with a bit of dry tack if they brought home straight A’s and a lashing with the cat o’nine tails if they didn’t.

Not content with Tiger Mom’s harsh example, now comes along Wolf Dad Xiao Baiyou who claims that beating your child with a feather duster is a sure-fire incentive to get them into Peking University. Interestingly enough, as wolves aren’t known for their dusting skills, a more fitting moniker for him would likely be Chicken Dad.

For Americans outraged at the authoritarian-type discipline of Chinese parents, they conveniently overlook the long, exhausting hours Chinese parents put in 7 days a week to ensure their children achieve the best grades. Oh sure, a typical American parent may be heavy on the school functions too, but a couple of hours cheering on your kid at a basketball game is a lot easier than slogging through arcane bits of algebra.

Chinese parents demand homework; it’s a necessary evil like twice yearly dental check-ups or DIY prostrate exams. The advent of the one child family results in the laser-like focus of parents and grandparents thus, there is no such thing here as an “Army of One”, rather it’s Team Xiu-Xiu, Team Dong Dong or Team Peach – which in China is not gender-specific. But what Americans seem unaware of is that Chinese parents dislike homework as much as anyone else; in the end, it’s all a matter of self-interest.

China currently has over 143 million elderly citizens, that’s equal to the entire population of Russia or France and the United Kingdom combined. It’s expected to hit 437 million by 2051 when 3 out of 10 people will be over 60. Government social care for the elderly is lagging far behind developed countries. Over 65% of seniors don’t receive welfare, pensions or adequate medical care. The solution to this dismal future? China is advocating that “senior citizens live at home and be taken care of in the community”.

Good grades equals good schools which lead to good jobs and financial security for aging parents when they finally move in with their adult children. Rigorous schoolwork and academic discipline then isn’t a matter of Confucian policy but self-preservation. Given the state of America’s daunting deficit and depleting Social Security reserves will American parents soon ditch the school football parties for study sessions with their kids on syntax, thesis writing and exposition?

For me, I don’t want my twilight years spent in a creaking mother-in-law apartment over my child’s garage, heck no – I want my own satellite TV equipped, hardwood teak floor, 2 bedroom cabana beside their landscaped infinity pool. Looks like another four hours of homework tonight? Bring it on!

The recent events involving the Pennsylvania State football coach Joe Paterno resonates even more acutely over here. The past weeks of national hand-wringing over the inaction of 18 by-standers to save the life of a two year old girl has the country wondering if society’s modern self-centered chase for prosperity has obliterated the past traditions of community and public decency.

Joe Paterno is a living icon. In a country where millions of lives are scheduled around college sports and football being the holy grail of them all, he holds the record as the coach for the most games won. An investigation regarding the sexual abuse of a child by Paterno’s former defensive coordinator Jerry Sandusky has now led to the firing of the legendary coach and criminal charges against Sandusky, the athletic director and school vice president for aiding in the cover-up. In addition, earlier abuse witnessed by a janitor went unreported because he feared for his job.

Paterno has built his legacy not only on skilled coaching and strategy but was known for his integrity. So much so he created a campaign called “The Grand Experiment” to prove that football excellence and academic integrity could co-exist. Although Paterno complied with the school policy of reporting the allegations of abuse to the athletic director in 2002, he did not go further, either reporting to the police or following up. Now that further allegations have recently surfaced, the question in everyone’s mind is why did he not speak out?

Why did 18 by-standers not help an injured toddler? Why did powerful men allow the possibility of a sexual predator to continue to abuse young children in their own midst?

As humans, one of our greatest driving forces is self-preservation. We strive for a better life and steer clear of obstacles that could hurt us. But also as humans, we have an innate desire to live with one another. Whether it’s as a family, friend, couple or community; no man is an island or wants to be stuck on one alone. We have a moral compass that instinctively signals us to take care of each other, even strangers.

It’s when we see a need but push down that natural compulsion to help that the community stands up and roars it’s head, justifiably.

The Golden Rule to treat others as we’d like to be treated is an underpinning, a safety net for us as a society to prosper. But by putting ourselves first and leaving behind the vulnerable, we put our survival as a society at risk.

All of us will be challenged at some point, when we must weigh personal safety for the greater good. And therein lies the dangers of selfishness for as Edmund Burke said, “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing”. Oh, and the parking attendant? He gave me the first hour for free.
  
 

In response to this, the China National Association for Ethnical Studies just announced a program to teach filial piety to 1 million children between the ages of 4 and 6 years. This has come under pointed criticism. First of all, parents better hope their child will be part of that million, if not, lock unto this mantra – “I must spend all my money before my child does”. Secondly, teaching filial piety is not like a no littering campaign. While teaching small children to bow to their parents may be a fun game to them, chances of having your teenager wash your feet no less speak a comprehensible sentence to you are a hundred times harder than winning the national lottery.

I obtained my first real job by that tried and true method; nepotism. It was a stressful environment with suppliers coming up short, partners changing contractual terms and clients demanding what was hastily promised to them. Then there was my boss – my mother. The mother-daughter relationship is like the act of giving birth; only relived every day. There’s the pain, the screaming, the need to separate, the ecstasy of love, more pain and much more screaming. Throw in a salary dispute, a hardship posting and parental disapproval of my boyfriend and it was no wonder that I contemplated the early demise of my mother. Of course, filial piety and the fact that with her gone, there would be no one to sign my paycheck dissipated my tantrum into less rebellious moves like clocking in after 10 am and not recycling used paper.

It wasn’t until the birth of my first child that I really understood and appreciated all the things that my parents had done for me. Some were great sacrifices, some were not but most of their lives were steered in one way or another by the care and upbringing of my sister and myself.  Sure they made mistakes; did too much or too little at one time or another but I am who I am in many ways because of who they are and who their parents were. Blood may be thicker than water but our characteristics, values and principals are even more viscous, because like DNA, that’s what replicates from generation to generation.

The 24 Filial Exemplars (二十四孝 èrshísì xiào) is a classic text of Confucian filial piety with stories like He Fed His Parents Doe’s Milk (Lù Rŭ Fèng Qīn 鹿乳奉親), He Strangled A Tiger To Save His Father (È Hŭ Jiù Qīn 搤虎救父), and of course what we all hope from our children someday; He Washed His Mother’s Bedpan (Dí Qīn Niào Qì 滌親溺器).  But let’s be realistic and not expect this from a teenage son or daughter who can find a myriad of excuses for not taking out the garbage. No, the children who best show filial piety to their parents are usually grandparents themselves.

In the end can filial piety be taught? Of course. You can teach a kid to play the piano but that doesn’t mean he’ll like it or want to play all his life. Filial piety in its purest form comes down to sacrificing oneself for another. It’s borne out of love, loyalty and respect, not guilt or fear. The idea can be taught in the classroom but it’s only in the home where it’s nurtured and grown. As for my own parents, I always assure them that filial piety is paramount to me, and if they should ever need a place they’ve got it, after all, there’s always room in the garage.

Day 1: Temporarily move to the JW Marriott Tomorrow Square apartments in the heart of the city (formerly named People’s Square but signs are afoot that they’re quickly shedding the last vestiges of overt Communism, that and the fact that the Chinese translation of “Rich Dad, Poor Dad” is the top selling book in the country).

Shanghai is really a city like no other. 21st century architecture, home to major multi-nationals and billion dollar State enterprises lies a mere body width beside hundred year old plus lane houses selling live crickets and elaborately carved wooden boxes for cricket fights.
AJ and I go on a feeding frenzy, seeing how much RMB 50 (USD 8) will go. Note: RMB 25 is more than enough. After ingesting the last plate of street-side fried noodles and chewy globes of bubble tea – we felt like Chinese Oompah-Loompahs; yellow, fat and blue in the face.
I pass a spa advertising facials for RMB 88 (USD13.75), and  not being physically able to ever pass up a bargain ( how many sets of Ginsu knives do I have? Don’t ask), lie expectantly down for a relaxing 90 minutes of bliss. Unfortunately, the girl doing the facial was attending part-time classes at “Wall Street English” and my hoped-for spa turned out to be a lengthy teaching session of “Where can I buy a train ticket?”, “You are so handsome.” and “I want to get a Green Card.” P.S. This is the same path Wendy Deng (aka Wendy Murdoch took).

Day 2: A 15 minute walk from our hotel leads us to our new home just a block away from Nanjing Road; Shanghai’s century-old main shopping through-way. We pass a 4 block long food street with the top 20 junk food hits from home. Baskin Robins, Carl’s Jr, Cha Mate, Honeymoon Dessert, Pho 28, Watsons, Papa John’s, and the bakery that ruined Dunkin Donuts for me – Krispy Kreme (like Pavlov’s dog, I drool uncontrollably whenever I see flashing lights similar to the Krispy Kreme “Hot Donut” alarm. This is especially embarrassing at police check points). This mixed in with a dozen Chinese, Thai, Korean and Japanese restaurants and the subway stop make this our go-to place when our arteries demand shots of fatty insulation.
Beijing is often said to be the city of intellectuals and artists while Shanghai is all about commerce and consumerism. Pirated DVD movies are rife in both places but  Shanghai sells cartloads of pirated novels – in English. The complete 7 set of Harry Potter books sell for RMB 140 (USD 22). I guess it’s ok as long as you can overlook the minor Chinglish quirks like “Ha-lee Pah-tah and de Haf-Brud Plince”.

Day 3: Shanghai is probably the only city in China where you forget you’re in China. Foreigners are uncommonly common here. As an expat, we’re just another pair of legs to jostle and cut in front of; even beggars and fake watch hawkers ignore us for the more moneyed Chinese locals.
Like Hong Kong, it’s a fast-moving city where your looks and business acumen will take you far. Good thing I’ll work from home where my “office” pajamas will blend in with the local’s traditional choice of after-dinner street wear.
Now necessity is said to be the mother of invention, so the combination of small apartments and large German underwear gave modern consumers the Siemens all-in-one washer/dryer unit. An item that can do two opposing functions is more often a marketing fantasy, like a husband who likes shopping but isn’t secretly gay. And at first, the dryer would spit out hot, damp clothes – much like the steaming, oishi buri towels served at Japanese restaurants, only with limp sleeves and zippers attached. But a quick call to room service and a new washer/dryer replaced the old in a matter of minutes. German engineering again does the impossible (or at least the improbable) and the dryer actually worked, I was amazed and hence saved a bundle on hotel laundry charges.

Day 4 and on: Looking forward to a very interesting life in China’s most cosmopolitan city, making new friends and renewing old. Hope you come and visit (there’s a great hotel around the corner!). As they say in Shanghai “Nong Haw!” (Welcome!)

On Saturdays afternoons in the 1950’s, kids would race to their televisions to watch the latest Flash Gordon episode. In his golden, ornate Versace-like chamber, the evil Fu Manchu strapped down his latest victim on a thoroughly worn, splintered wooden plank. Lying there prone and unable to move a finger, the buxomly blonde, her eyes wide as saucers, would start to shriek as the delighted villain gamely stroked his wispy goatee and then with a flourish, unscrewed the opening of the water vessel hanging above her head. The water slowly formed into a tiny ball until gravity took its course, the droplets falling “plink, plink, plink …” on her forehead. The victims were said to go insane at the never-ending irritation. This was ominously known as The Chinese Water Torture.

Like death and taxes, there is guaranteed to be a few repairs needed when moving into a new home. Things that the former tenant didn’t think was really necessary, oh – like a working telephone line or a leaking water pipe. Boldly I went forth, but little did I know that I was next in line for that splintered, wooden plank.
Much has been said of the current “victimhood” mentality of the United States. Maybe it started with the million dollar lawsuits and payouts for “emotional distress”, maybe it was the continuing emasculation of women and the feminization of men, maybe because after The Greatest Generation (1910’s – 1930’s) they raised a bunch of crybabies, whatever, there is a growing backlash to be accountable and take responsibility for one’s own actions.

China on the other hand, has both culturally and institutionally always looked for a “fall guy” every time a situation arises. Along with steamed fish and rice, stir-fried scapegoat is a daily staple of the Chinese diet.

A leaking water pipe is a case in point. A dozen repairmen revolved through my home, like beauty pageant contestants only less useful. Each of them took a look at my dripping walls and keeping their shiny, new toolboxes closed, declared it was the landlord’s problem or the management’s problem or the guy who lived upstairs, anyone’s problem but theirs. In a twist on the physician’s creed of “Do no harm”, Chinese culture seems to have evolved into a bureaucratic guide that prescribes “Do nothing and you can’t be blamed”.

That this thinking has led to the incidents involving Good Samaritans who are punished and fined for helping those in need only goes to show that something must be done. But what? The fact that blame is such an intrinsic fiber of Chinese culture, how can this be transformed? I grew up with blame; we threw it around like day-old spaghetti. In a Chinese family, being accountable when things go south has no upside. For Asians, failures are never forgotten and like clock-work, are rehashed, time and time again.

For the repairmen though, a job like theirs is truly ironic. Who can blame them for a poor job if they’ve managed to avoid doing anything in the first place? Reports of doctors leaving patients untreated due to the same fears abound.

A bloom of mold on the wall greeted me the following day, brackish water slowly filling up the bucket underneath the leak. While there’s nothing more dangerous than eating dirt-cheap “meat” buns from a Beijing street vendor, so too is a determined tenant with a lot of time on her hands and Google. I tracked down my absentee landlord in a distant country and an earful of indignant whining soon produced another repairman who promptly knocked a hole in the wall, fixed his flashlight on the offending leak and happily told me not to worry – it was the apartment above me that was to blame. Of course, he wouldn’t fix it since it was someone else’s problem. My arm felt itchy. Was that a spot of mold on my skin? My hands felt bound, I couldn’t brush it off. I could feel the spores taking over my body. The water wouldn’t stop; plink, plink, plink on my forehead…

The recent scandals with Arnold Schwarzenegger, Dominique Strauss-Kahn and Anthony Weiner gave the world a triple-play of bad husband behavior. Marriages thrown in jeopardy; years of shared experiences, challenges and achievements, children, friends and family all sacrificed for as the Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi called it – a night of bunga bunga.

Christopher Ryan, author of Sex At Dawn – How We Mate, Why We Stray, and What It Means for Modern Relationships argues that monogamy is not instinctive to human nature.  Hardly ground breaking, it’s an often heard lament from (usually) men wriggling out of a committed relationship. But what about the wives who keep the home fires burning while their husband is out on yet another business trip? When does a warm welcome home warrant a clandestine search of his suit pockets, text messages, email and credit card charges?

Varied studies show that the range of unfaithful husbands is anywhere from 22 -50%, ironically over 70% of wives were unaware of the affair and less than 10% of husbands will admit to infidelity without being asked. A further 50% of husbands will deny an affair even faced with incriminating evidence.

While the majority of brides and grooms begin their marriages fully intent on being faithful and monogamous, a lifetime of unresolved conflicts, reluctant compromises, mixed messages, misunderstandings and just plain selfishness will one day crystallize so jarringly, you suddenly find yourself nicking your leg with the razor in the shower. Staring back at your reflection, a voice inside makes its way from your gut up to your throat shouting “Did I marry the wrong person?”

If dating is a sprint, marriage is an ultra-triathlon with both partners bound together with just enough rope to help or hang themselves. Along the murky trail you get pelted with debt, jealousy, rewards, expectations, judgments, family obligations, doubt, disappointments, showered with happiness, dragged over hot coals and finally wonder to yourselves “Where the heck is that finish line?”

The number one reason unfaithful husbands gave for their infidelity was emotional dissatisfaction in their marriage, being taken for granted and underappreciated by their wives. The issue of respect surfaced again and again. The cliché a man’s home is his castle still rings true in the 21^st century. Whether he’s the CEO of a multi-national or the guy passing out flyers at the traffic lights, he needs the respect of one person – his wife. Nagging that he didn’t put the dishes away or put the wrong lotion on the baby adds no positive reinforcement to the marriage.  It’s no wonder that 40% of affairs happen between co-workers. Secretaries, assistants, and subordinates may talk behind his back in the break room but with their career at stake, they acquiesce to his orders, laugh at his jokes, fend off salesmen, and arrange his every working hour.  With longer working hours and extensive travel, wives may be lucky to spend a quarter of his time with their husbands. Combined with the added burden of running a household and raising children on her own, the relationship can easily become a breeding ground for resentment and sow even more distance.

So how to affair-proof your marriage?  Respect him. Love her. Be each other’s counselors and cheerleaders. Be fully committed to the relationship and protect it from intruders. Be intimate, and transparent without fear of judgment. Be thankful. And if that doesn’t work, buy a pair of military grade handcuffs , lock around your wrists and toss the key.

From the daily news bringing us the latest tales of celebrity men and their mistresses, to the predilection of well dressed women scouring the lobbies of office buildings at lunchtime for a speedy “language lesson”, it’s clear that a significant proportion of married men have rationalized away the bonds of monogamy.

But what about the wives? Mistress. The word conjures up slinky lingerie-clad escapades on a hot summer night. No wonder it’s not uncommon for husbands to be tempted, in some circles the ability to keep a mistress is a mark of status. But for women, a paid escort or “gigolo” offers images of a swarthy pizza swirler in tight white pants and thick gold chains.

Which is greater? The number of wives willing to underwrite the lifestyles of men unrelated by marriage or birth or the number of daredevils who survive going over Niagara Falls in a barrel? Answer: It depends on the barrel. But while a number of wives will engage in an affair, few will go the way of taking on a “Mantress”.

Even though more and more women have achieved financial and executive success translating to a jump in fashion, spa and beauty treatment sales, being a “sugar mama” has all the allure of a plate of cold French fries topped with a layer of congealed brown gravy. There are reasons why so few wives take on lovers. When you’re used to doling out every day funds from groceries to piano tutors, there’s a jarring disconnect when allowances are paid not only to your school-age children but to your lover with the washboard abs. Sure it’s exciting and no small amount of pleasure gossiping with your girlfriends over his slim waist, broad shoulders and full head of hair and teeth – all natural, no implants. But there comes a time, and it will inevitably arrive, when your nurturing instincts take over and you begin to serve him instead of the other way around. And then you find yourself cooking your second pot of oatmeal for the day.

Extra-marital affairs whether husbands or wives arise out of similar reasons; lack of intimacy, affection, communication, a feeling of being taken for granted by their partners, and while for men there is a component of sex involved, that may not always be an important element for women.

In Japan, a popular place for married women are Host Clubs where a stable of men, their hair and eyebrows immaculately coiffed, are paid by the hour to sing, drink with and most importantly listen to their female clients. It’s a business model that offers regular and high returns. That it hasn’t planted itself anywhere other than Korea may be due to the fact that the initiation process is said to expose new hires to hours of deafening heavy metal tracks from Iron Maiden.

In the movie “What Women Want”, the hero gains the power to hear women’s thoughts and since this is a Hollywood film, actually listens to them. The film embodies a golden nugget of truth; women want to share their emotions with their partners.

What many men don’t understand is that women are looking to communicate, not necessarily come up with a solution. The husband who pointedly offers unsolicited advice time and time again soon wonders why his wife is increasing her sessions with her ripped personal trainer even after she lost the weight she wanted.

So forget the noon-time lover, if you want to be listened to, dump the rock hard pecs and go with the guy who charges by the hour, the one who won’t ever ask you to pick up his dry cleaning or buy him an Armani suit, just Google “psychiatrist”.

My limp, sweat soaked hair did not in any way add to my already limited natural allure. The next time I saw him was on the way to work. I was waiting for a taxi when he stopped and offered me a lift in his car. He must have thought me rude as I spent the entire time looking away from him, my face to the window. Who knew that this was the morning I planned to pluck my eyebrows and put on my make-up on the ride over?

Dating is and always has been a minefield of fumbled opportunities, misleading assumptions, good intentions gone wrong and oblivious acts of revulsion. In the range of anxiety-inducing moments though, initial meetings like public speaking, rate near the top. With Spring in bloom and the hopeful vestiges of love in the air, here are a few primers on making the best impression for that first date.

First dates can be fabulous or fatal; the difference is in the preparation. To be successful, treat it not unlike a job interview. Dress up for the occasion, it’s not Casual Fridays, leave that hoodie and sweatpants in the closet – and I’m talking to the women. You can bring them back out after the ring is on your finger. Men, short of looking and smelling like a hobo, women are generally far more generous in judging you on the basis of your khaki pants or board shorts but leave the man purse at home, you can bring it back after the ring is on your finger.

Unlike Jerry McGuire, quite a few would-be lovers experience the “You lost me at hello”. Conversation is a dying art these days where topical exchanges are suddenly interrupted with cell phone calls and intermittent bursts of texting. Give your thumbs the night off. And again, first dates shouldn’t be viewed as an interrogation with a cheese course thrown in. Between the appetizer and dessert, potential partners are often grilled on their latest hobby to their net worth, but the right questions can give you a glimpse of the real person sitting across from you outside of the artifice. Pointed questions about inter-family dynamics and memories of their youth will open a window into their character beyond any recollection of their latest trip to Phuket.

You say toe-mate-toe, I say toe-maht-toe. You say corny, I say romantic. While women know the power of a short skirt and high heels over a man, men wholly underestimate how many brownie points a bouquet of flowers will get them. You’ll be glad you used your lunch money on an armful of roses when her eyes flutter up to yours.

And then there are the missteps on the road making the date a one-time only deal. Go ahead and share your past relationships, noticeably why your ex was so great/terrible, drink until slurring becomes a natural way of expression, your one-sided conversation starring I, Me and My has achieved that glazed-over look in their eyes, and a sure-fire way to go home alone – go Dutch. Number of men who get a second date after splitting the check: 0.

Like buying a lottery ticket, first dates are an emotional investment to what hopefully will prove to be a lifelong partner. That’s the cause for the giddiness, the anxiety, the anticipation. This could be the day you win the Golden Ticket. And though it may end up as a near miss or a frog without the prince, stay optimistic and keep at it because make-up or no make-up, true love is blind – thank goodness!