Oh boy. I go through relationships like most people go through underwear. It’s a dirty, nasty job, but I have no other choice. My future husband is simply not going to fall out of the sky and land on my front porch. And even if some poor sap did, in fact, do just that, I would most likely find something about him that grated on my nerves to no end, and I would certainly send him on his way before he had even dusted off his pants. The coach that I went out with a week ago didn’t make it to date number three. I had a few issues with this…