I’m one of the world’s top relationship experts. You ever heard of those marriage counselors who can tell if a couple’s gonna make it within 10 minutes of meeting them? I can tell in 10 seconds. I can tell just by looking at a picture, of one or both of them. Once I correctly predicted the fate of a doomed relationship from a low-res photo on a flip phone. Another time from a sketch on a cocktail napkin. When you have this level of insight into interpersonal dynamics and body language, you just know. In the time it took you to read this, I could’ve saved or mercy-killed five relationships.
Sometimes my immediate intuition isn’t good enough for a client. Maybe they’re in denial; they want to drag it out, demanding more of my valuable consultation time. So I arrange to have an attractive person flirt with their partner at a bar. As the client and I watch on closed circuit television, I measure whether their partner registers any physiological changes on the plethysmograph I’ve hooked up to their genitals. People always ask me, “How do you get someone into a bar while they’re hooked up to a genital plethysmograph?” and “Why not just do the experiment in your office?” To which I say: A. With one of those wheeled hospital carts, and B. The results are more accurate this way. And besides, my cousin Antonio owns the joint and he’s cool with it.
I have a sliding payment scale because I think even poor people should be able to afford my services. When you consider the time and money you could potentially save, can anyone afford not to? Business is booming. One premium option I’ve begun offering is the “Relationship Reveal Cake,” in which a hopeful couple, surrounded by family and friends, cuts through the icing to discover my prognosis (red velvet for “yes,” coconut for “no”). I also offer a service where my niece Jenna culls your Instagram account of painful memories after a breakup.
Some folks bristle at the brutal efficiency of my methods, but is it really any worse than the old trial-and-error method? Once I told my friend Darrin that it wasn’t going to pan out with his fiancé. Unfortunately, due to the acoustics of the chapel the entire bridal party overheard and I haven’t seen Darrin since the wedding. But 17 years, three kids and two trial separations later, guess what I read on Facebook? You got it. Splitsville.