Shopping for a husband

I got a good shock today, when I realised that at 26, people my age are starting to get married. I've even overheard 20 year old gay men using the word "husband" when referring to their significant others. Whatever happened to the tradition of gay men having their slutty period? I enjoyed mine...for the most part. Oh well, youth fades and at 26, I'm nearing the infamous 30 closer than I'd like it to be. The age when you supposedly all of a sudden drop the bar-hopping life and get a vacation home to share with a man who magically appears out of nowhere.

However, magic can only do so much work, so I'm starting the hunt early to avoid any possible "I'm single!" panic at 11:59pm February 5, 2009.

Here are the requirements:

• Canadian or Spanish citizenship or residency preferred. I can expand that to include Belgium, but we've got to live in Brussels or Wallonia. I can hold my own in French (and to a lesser extent Spanish), but I'm a little bit wary of being too close to the Vlaams Blok, banned or not, since my Flemish is non-existent. I can't envision going to Alberta in the future, so that's no problem.
• For two days in May, we're watching Eurovision. It's 6 hours spread out over 2 days out of your life, and I'll do that thing you like afterwards for being such a good sport.
• Once a week, we work out together. When you're busy and I'm busy, it'll be something to look forward to.
• Come 35, we're adopting or having (listen, science is working on it) a child. Just one, it's not going to kill you and you might very well like imparting your knowledge on a future generation.
• All heights are welcome, but there are certain things we might have to overcome. I'm versatile in a relationship, but if you're a total inflexible top under 5' 7" (1.7m) we're going to have some logistical problems as I'm 6' (1.82m).
• Realise that you're marrying a playwright. There are no guarantees that I won't write about you. Be on your best behaviour.
• Politically, you've got to be pretty much able to deal with a Socialist, be it in SP-USA or DSA colours. (In Canada, this means I'll pretty much bleed NDP, perhaps even make a random trip to Saskatchewan to pray at the altar of Tommy Douglas.)

There, that's not much to ask for.

(Note: If you think I'm being serious with all this...well, I won't say if I am or not. Being released from the corset out of hell has made me cocky.)