Selective romantic memory (SRM) is an epidemic of the 20-something set. When we like someone most of the details of what goes on between us go impressionist painting on us when it comes time to remember and react accordingly. It looks something like what really happened but it’s all sort of blurry and miss-colored and somehow looks really beautiful to us for reasons we can’t explain.

• “I know he said that about that other girl, but I feel like he said it in a tone that meant nothing was going on” (he didn’t).
• Or, “I know I texted him and he never showed up but I’m almost sure I remember him saying he was having trouble with his blackberry or something” (he isn’t).
• And the oh-so-common, “I’m telling you, he looked at me really weird the last time we were together – like meaningful weird…” (that’s called drunk squinting).

What we need is a “previously on” sequence.

I don’t know when all serial TV shows started including the “previously on” element, but it is genius. I can’t remember back to what goes on from the first 15 minutes of LOST to the last, yet I go into my subsequent week’s viewing with a nice, organized reminder of what matters and what doesn’t for our next session. Am I supposed to hate Tay Tay for being a bitch to Rachel or was it Rachel who was being a brat to Tay? It’s all a big, blonde blur, but luckily my weekly episode of The Rachel Zoe Project starts with a 30 second recap of who was most recently a child.

…now what would be nice is a life version.

Prior to leaving the house for a night out with the current offender we could tune in to a little edited recap of all the drama that ensued the past few times we were together. This time we’d watch it sober and without those peep toes that apparently cut off the circulation to my brain. For 30 to 45 seconds we’d have an eagles – no, editors eye view of what we look like doing whatever it is we do when that person is around. The hair flips, the “sexy eyes“, the complete disregard for the fact that he’s actually been flirting with some other girl all night long. Lights up, cameras focused, you’re an idiot.

Of course if what we really want is a recap of our darkest hours — what this life previously on would, in effect be – it’s probably just as simple as calling up whatever friend was playing wingman to our girl-on-a-“hidden”-mission that night. He/she — mmm, right — she’ll gladly edit together a 30-45 second verbal clip before the next night begins…

• Her: “He got there 45 minutes late, made you buy him a beer, said your boobs looked nice, met up with some buddy over the TVs, sat there and watched the game for the next 2 hours, suggested we leave for some other bar a $20 cab ride away, but then said, ‘but you don’t have to come if you’re comfortable here — I’m just meeting up with some girls from work.’ You went, paid for the cab, and had what appeared to be a dance off with one or two of his work girls, but I’m not sure it counts because they didn’t know it was happening.”
• You: “He said my boobs looked nice? I don’t remember him saying that…”

…And with that you’ll long for the days when you could relish in this week’s episode of Felicity because you didn’t have a reminder about how ridiculously bad last week’s was…