(Because nothing screams “romance” like a dying planet, questionable atmospheric compatibility, and the faint hope that your species isn’t completely doomed yet. At least, not if you repopulate it)
Martians have been trying to pick up Earthlings for well over a century, usually with tripods and heat rays. These are the slightly more civilized attempts; either that, or H.G. Wells had some peculiar interests and knows Grover, New Jersey too well. But Martians have lots of plans for us. Some of them even avoid immediate planetary invasion. Go ahead, go home with a Martian! Results may include dehydration, sudden interest in canal engineering, and the distinct feeling that your date is judging your oxygen consumption.
“Are you from Earth? Because you have the kind of beauty normally available only to those with access to hydration.”
“I come from a dying world with dying oceans and dying hope. I’m basically John Keats with tentacles. Doesn’t that sound brooding and hot?”
“My planet is red. My blood is red. My future without you is also red. Mostly from embarrassment. Are you the sentient species of this planet, or have I just spent thirty minutes mackin’ it to a parking meter?”
“They say Martians have three hands. Two for operating the heat ray, and one reserved exclusively for holding yours. John Lennon was actually from Venus, but he had a pretty good idea of romance on the Red Planet.”
“You must be from Earth because you’re the only thing in this solar system that isn’t slowly desiccating.”
“I promise I’m not here to conquer your planet. I’m just here to conquer your weekend plans. I’ve got ‘Cabaret’ tickets and a bottle of Everclear mixed with champagne; I’m told no human can resist that.”
“My civilization is ancient, noble, and on the verge of total ecological collapse. If you date me for a few years before I die from a lack of critical nutrients, you’ll be way more ready if your World suffers a catastrophic, destructive ending. How’s that for a practical relationship?”
“On Mars we court by building elaborate canal systems. On Earth I’m told you just say ‘hello.’ This is much harder than it looks. So to be honest, when I told you I was headed to the little Martian’s room, I may have been digging a 500-mile tunnel open to the sky. …is there any chance you find that romantic? ‘Hello’ is hard.”
“They say the Martians are coming. Well, this Martian has arrived, and he’s extremely tired of being alone on a dying planet. He’d rather be surrounded by idiots, which is why I came to this bar. Wait, where are you going?”
“You’re like an oasis in the desert of my Martian existence — wet, life-giving, and probably going to disappear if I stare too long.
“My tripod is parked outside. Want to go for a ride? We’ll knock over a few skyscrapers and die from the common cold. If that’s not romantic, what is?”
“I brought flowers from the last living garden on Mars. They’re mostly dust and regret, but the thought counts, right?”
“On my world we measure love in how many centuries we’re willing to wait for rain. We’ve been practicing foreplay on our clouds for 700 years. If you have a little spare time.”
“I’m not saying I’d terraform your planet for you… but I do have some very outdated but enthusiastic ideas about atmospheric adjustment.”
“You must be an Earthling because every time you smile my vestigial third eye starts twitching in a way the scientists don’t understand but which may hold the clue to how to keep our two species from destroying each other. Would you like to fly seven thousand light years with me so our scientists can examine you and you can meet my parents?”
“Let’s be honest — my species is doomed. So there’s no way I’m going to tie you down to marriage or any of that stuff. In fact, if you don’t call me tomorrow, I might have already faded to dust, which would really reduce the awkwardness.”
“I come in peace. Mostly. The other 12% of me comes in mild romantic desperation and faint traces of pink dust.”
“They say there’s no life on Mars. Clearly they’ve never seen me trying to flirt. Then they’d realize the amount of life on Mars is somewhere in the ‘negative twelve’ vicinity.
“My ex left me for a better atmosphere. I’m hoping you have lower standards.”
“Want to come back to my crater? It’s not much, but the view of the two moons is decent and the radiation is only mildly concerning.”
“I may have invaded your planet in several classic novels, but I promise this time I’m only invading your personal space a little. And I come bearing cocktails.”
“On Mars we don’t say ‘I love you.’ We say ‘Your oxygen output is acceptable and I would not immediately drain you for fluids.’ That’s basically marriage there, same as it is on Earth.”
“While the gravity of Earth, being far greater than that of Mars, pulls me inexorably towards the center of your planet, the far greater force of your beauty pulls me inexorably to you. I have no choice but to buy you a drink. Mint julep?”
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