A few weeks back I summarily executed another relationship. This marked the fourth relationship in three years that I had ended within a week of the three-month mark. Which, let's be frank, is not a great looking stat to have on anyone's scoresheet. Either for me, or for the women I date. Each time, the girls have been lovely and beautiful and the sex has been magnificent. But still, each time, the three month mark rolls into view and suddenly my convictions . . .

Going to the bathroom these days is an exercise that shows off a peculiar fluid grace. In one movement I unbutton my jeans, dart my hand into my pocket as they descend, pluck out my iPhone and flip it a full turn between thumb and forefinger. I sit, settle myself, unlock the phone, and open Twitter to scan for responses to the hilarious video I posted three minutes ago of a clown being used as a piñata. The whole thing has probably taken four or five seconds. . . .