Dear Luv Doc,
There is an interesting disparity between men I meet online and the ones I don’t—that is, my online dates expect sex sooner than men I meet some other way. Last week a man that I met online told me that if he hasn’t had sex with someone after three dates, he assumes that it’s not going to happen. When I disagreed, he said it is common knowledge. What? Is this the new normal?
⏤Just No

I don’t know what the new normal is, but that guy who said the thing about the three dates … well … he’s an idiot. You should definitely throw that lemming back into the water. I’m not just saying this because of the obvious reason, which would be that although yes, there is a thing known as the three-date rule, it is utterly ridiculous. (Stand by for further ridicule.) Rather, I’m saying this because anyone who might try to invoke the three-date rule in order to con you into bumping uglies just has no game whatsoever. Like, literally zero. Maybe even negative if that’s mathematically possible. That’s like someone trying to get you to do Molly because you’re at a dance party. Weak.

Really? It’s the Third Millennium, and while we still have a long, long way to go to eradicate idiocy, it doesn’t mean we have to settle for it in our potential sex partners. As ugly as things have gotten, let us not be the generation that drops the baton on a billion years of Darwinian evolution. If we are going to breed—even on a test run basis—by all that is holy let it be with someone who actually enhances the gene pool, if only by a razor-thin margin.

Sex should never happen unless both parties … or all three parties … or five parties … or everyone in the entire rugby scrum of whatever Roman orgy evolves out of your Sunday night potluck dinner party is/are completely comfortable with what is going down. The mere fact that I have to write that sentence is embarrassing for us as a society. In fact, I apologize for even making you read it. I do hope, however, that the gentleman who whipped out the three-date rule as if it were some sort of peer-pressure Spanish fly is reading this … somewhere in his sad, lonely bachelor apartment with his weight set, his huge, flat-screen TV, and his mirror-ceiling waterbed with slippery satin sheets.
Whenever I get a little pessimistic about the course of humanity in general, it’s nice to know there are people like you out there righting the ship. It gives me hope. I want you to share my hope and know that while an actual zombie hoard of that type of guy may be hurling themselves against your dating profile everyday, there will be that one guy who actually gets it, and he is out there smashing zombie heads with his baseball bat trying to get to you.

Patience grasshopper. Patience.