Your competition is a 20 pound terrier mix. Good luck to you.

The long-running joke about singledom is that if you want to die alone and a virgin (at least vaginally) get a half-dozen cats. Maybe start hoarding some items on your body also, like moles and weird growths that Web.MD can't identify. I say if you want to die alone, albeit after many men have seen your lady parts, adopt an obsessive dog.

I'll say it, my dog has ruined me as far as relationships go. No living dude can ever compete with the following characteristics he posses and that I've become accustomed to during our 16 year (yeah that's right mother fuckers I've kept this creature alive for 16 years, I'm a boss) relationship:

1. Complete devotion. 

Even if I walk outside for 5 seconds to throw out an empty wine bottle or get a closer look at the neighbor's friends to see if they're underage or not, when I walk inside my dog acts like he hasn't seen me for 35 years. I mean I get the full body shaking, at any moment he can piss and/or shit himself, and he throws his body into my knee caps until I acknowledge his existence. I don't even have to touch him or give three shits that he's assaulting my lower body, he just wants to know that I know that he's fucking stoked to see me. 

He'll also follow me from room to room all day. He's an old son of a bitch but be damned his arthritic hips and failing eyesight, where I go he goes. I mean true devotion is when you're reading your Kindle in the bathroom for 45 minutes and when you walk out little man is lying on the floor directly outside the door to escort you to your next location. 

I mean the odds that I can find a dude that will attack my body and lick my face obsessively the minute I get  home from work everyday and lay on the floor outside the bathroom door while I'm having an exorcism seem pretty slim. There truly is no modern romance. 

2. Morning breath? So about it. 

I'm pretty sure my dog loves me more when I'm at my most unattractive. When I put on a pretty dress, shave my legs and throw on some hooker heels he's really not too impressed. He can't be bothered if those hooker shoes could end his life if I pre-party too much and stumble on his unsuspecting body. But when I wake up so hungover that I think I might die, with a little vomit in my hair and morning breath that could wipe out a poverty-striken village he wants his mouth on my face. Literally tongue in my mouth. I wake up to him staring at me adoringly and there's no way he's trying to avoid a morning cuddle session. There's no dude in the world who wants to touch this after a night of belligerent debauchery that ends with a back alley puke session. 

3. We don't have to talk about it. 

Obviously in relationships you have to have those "check-in" conversations every so often. Usually they involve yelling or tears, or my favorite when there are both of those things. Clearly I am always involved in extremely healthy relationships. If I yell or cry my dog doesn't need a rational explanation for why I am very obviously losing my shit. All he wants to do is sit in my lap and lick my face until it's all better. Find me the dude that doesn't ask me to explain why I fly off the  handle every so often and I will put a ring on it immediately.

4. Judge Judy, non-aggressively.

When I drink too much my dog judges me. There is a photographic evidence of his judgement.  Christmas Eve circa 2010 I decided to polish off several half-full bottles of booze, take off my pants in front of my entire family, try to bone someone's friend that made the mistake of crashing our holiday festivities and then passed out in the guest room with a full drool stain happening. The next day I woke up to a picture texted to me of my dog standing over my corpse with the most disappointed look I've ever seen on a creature's face. If a boyfriend had looked at me like that I would have told him to go fuck himself and let me live my life. Most likely screaming YOLO in his face and then cup checking his best friend on my way out. But I felt actual shame that I had disappointed this thing that loved me so much.

Let's be real, the less I drink the less likely I am to make a poor decision and text that dude with the porn stache that I met at the bar a few weeks back. Which means it's more likely I will die alone. By this point there is no way you can deny my theory. Unless you hate evidence and hard cold facts. Which probably means you would make an awesome jury member.

I love my dog, don't get me wrong. I mean I'm just as obsessed with him as he is with me. But I think after he's no longer my number one boo I should probably adopt 6 more cats. I feel like a cat is the perfect animal to set you up for being in a relationship. He'll ignore me, refuse to touch me when I look unattractive and turn around and bite the shit out of just when I think we're bonding. Animal hoarders, here I mother fucking come. Set your TIVO bitches.