I just had a gloriously lazy day. I slept in. I futzed around on the interwebs. I watched TV. I called my family. I ate a pair of McRibs. I hung out with Grace. All-in-all, it was a pretty swell day.

As such, I’ve got nothing cool or exciting to share with y’all (because I’m a totally boring dude) so it is—once again— writing prompt time.

Yay or nay: Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?!

This one is a toughie, folks.

You see on the one hand, living life never knowing love would suck some serious donkey balls. As a sad, pathetic, pre-emo high schooler I wasn’t exactly lighting up the scoreboards with the ladies, if you know what I’m saying.

I was that scrawny guy who made jokes and was everyone’s friend, but not the dude the ladies wanted to get funky with, if you know what I’m saying.

With that in mind, it makes perfect sense that I totally had a crush on a number of ladies, most of which never panned out…in any way…at all, if you know… wait, scratch that…it doesn’t apply here, y’all know what I’m saying.

At the time, I totally thought it sucked. There was nothing worse than loving someone—and this was high school, mind you, so it was obviously true love—and having them just view you as that funny guy who always listens and dressed up like Britney Spears during Homecoming week.

…actually, you know what…I don’t really see where this example is going.

There is no “loved and lost” because I was largely invisible as a sexual entity to most of my high school. I was more like a floor lamp or a pleasant down comforter, nice to have around, but definitely not something you wanna be caught making out with in the bed of a pickup truck.

There’s also no “never have loved at all” because, let’s face it, this was high school. None of that shit counts in real life. Unless you married your high school sweetheart or you got VD from the quarterback, most of us have long since left high school in the rearview mirror.

Lemme try a scenario that makes more sense and that I think we can all relate to…the McRib.

I have loved and lost the McRib. I lost the McRib for damn near five years before my love returned to my open arms (and mouth) a little more than a month ago.

It was a rough go of it and honestly, there were many times when I thought I’d never have another McRib again. It left me emotionally wrought and there were many nights that I’d lie in bed, just thinking about the McRib and how great it’d be if we could see each other, just one more time.

Oh yes, Non-Existent Readers, I’ve loved and lost. It is no good. No good at all.

Would it have been easier to have never eaten a McRib, like so many of my poor east coast peeps?! Maybe, maybe not…who can really say?!

They seem to think that they’re better off having never tasted that sweet ambrosia nestled on a corn-dusted bun, but I think they’re all a little hollow inside.

Whereas they don’t suffer through the same broken heart that I do when the McRib vanishes into the ether, they do suffer from the lack of knowing just what an awe-inspiring event—yes, I said event—the McRib can truly be when it is loved the way it is meant to be loved.

With that in mind, I would say it is a thousand times better to have loved and lost than to have never known love at all.

If I’d lived my entire 26 (dang near 27) years on this earth without having eaten the McRib, I’d never feel the anguish and torture during its many lengthy absences, but I’d suffer another pain; the pain of never really knowing and that sounds like a far, far worse fate.