Last January, as I struggled through an acute case of singleitis, I made a decision to lower my standards, which weren’t terribly high in the first place, in order to try and find someone.

What I came up with was a guy from a school just outside of Boston. Even before our first real meeting, I had assessed that he had decent looks, a normal personality and seemed like everything was in order, but nothing too spectacular.

So, as is the policy with my friends and I, we gave him a code name: Slightly Better Than Average, which isn’t that promising in the first place. But as time went on, we noticed that Slightly Better Than Average was actually significantly below par in almost every regard.

His social skills were awkward, his talents and interests were nearly non-existent and in the bedroom, well I’m sure you know where this is going.

After trying to force myself not to break his little unsatisfactory heart (he had grown quite attached in those short weeks), it was decided that this had to be broken off. But, with Valentine’s Day growing ever nearer, I could not bring myself to leave him alone for yet another February love fest.

I tried dropping little hints – leaving in the morning before he woke up, not returning his calls promptly, etc. – to maybe encourage him to end it before I had to. However, with Cupid hovering above the calendar,