It's not you, it's me. And the fact you could kill me with your bare hands.

I made an important personal discovery today. Not as big as the time I figure out that its ok to pretend to be a superhero in the shower (no one can see you)  but still better than when I realized that I’m not afraid of rock chucks.

I love ninjas, but I don’t think I could ever love a ninja.

Now let me be clear, I’m of course talking about love in the settle down and have a family kind of love a ninja. Not any other kind.

I could totally love a ninja like a brother from another more deadly mother.

I could have Christian love for a ninja. Heck I could Christian love the crap out of a ninja. Especially if they were a ninja widow, or a window made by a ninja, which is much more common.

But I just can’t see myself creating a life with a ninja.

Of course they’re the obvious logistical nightmare of actually finding a ninja and asking them out for the crucial first date. They’re some elusive buggers. People have written libraries worth of blog posts about how hard it is to find someone to love in today’s disconnected world. Just imagine trying to find someone to love with a lifetime of training in the art of invisibility. And when you think you finally found one, it turns out it just a kid in a ninja costume which causes a whole new stack of problems.

But once you found that special little assassin, you’re marriage is going to have issues.

Ninjas work late nights all the time. And their schedule is really erratic. You never know when they’ll have to run off to kill the Shogunate and even worse, you never know if they’re really killing the Shogunate or if they’re running around behind your back.

Kissing that mask would get old quick.

Smoke bombs are the perfect way to get out of spending time with your side of the family.

Forget throwing plates when you fight. While you’re at it, learn how to dodge ninja stars.

So yeah, no ninja love for me. I guess I’ll just have to settle for getting my wife a ninja suit for Christmas.

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