There's nothing First World Sadder than the end of a relationship. Oh I'm not talking about the end of a human relationship, at least not really. I'm talking about the end of a relationship with a juicy TV show on premium cable or Netflix.
All you non-TV owners and watchers, I genuflect before thine magnificent holiness. The rest of you, don't front.
You know you know what I'm talking about.
It's the end of Breaking Bad. No more Homeland. You couldn't get past season one of Girls. You've seen Cosmos, Bloodline, Luther, and all four seasons of The Killing. You couldn't get into Orange is the New Black or Empire, and you didn't even try. In between, all it's been is shitty BBC nature shows and extreme sports and true crime documentaries. Nothing anyone suggests to you sounds good, and no, not even Game of Thrones and yes you're serious.
And you are looooong past caring that the void left between serial relationships makes your life a little sad, or about the obvious fact that you could be doing something much more valuable with your time besides sitting around moping.
It's time to get back out there. Or on there. On the couch, I mean.
That's when you swipe right on Sons of Anarchy, and you recognize that love-at-first-sight-in-the-pilot-episode-feeling and you know. You just know. As Taylor Swift would say, you knew he was trouble when he walked in. And by "you" I mean "me." And by "he" I mean "a seven-season FX serial about a California motorcycle gang starring the mom from Married With Children and a no-name, shaggy-haired, ripped BUH-AYBE of the highest order who you're positive would be your boyfriend in real life if only he knew how awesome you were."
And there it is friends. That's serial monogamy.