When I was a younger man, far more impetuous, but as equally stupid as I am today, I made a wild claim.
It was when a relationship, with what I thought was the perfect woman, ended. In my youthful woe I claimed I'd never fall for another woman again.
Now, some years later (realising just how wildly stupid that claim was) I find myself in exactly the same position.
Only this time it's not a beautiful woman that's moving on in my life, leaving me hollow and emotional. This time it's something far more alluring and seductive - it's the London Olympic Games.
For the last two weeks I've dedicated every moment to this wonderfully ravishing temptress.
I've flirted with the endless joys of beach volleyball, water polo and synchronised 10m diving.
I've held a gaze across a crowded room with road and track cycling. I loved you.
I've awkwardly moved my arm around the shoulder of taekwondo. Call me sometime.
I've risked a kiss with track and field, heptathlon and the 5,000m final. It was wonderful, let's do it again.
I've even scoured the Internet for pictures (yeah, that's not cool - but I admit I've done it) of sports I will never, ever, understand.
And now it's all over, I'm a broken wreck of a man. I gave so much and now the games are moving on to a new, more exotic Brazilian lover called Rio. Thanks a bunch.
Before London 2012 started I wrote about why the media were turning the Olympics in to a bummer.
The endless negative stories about rain, security, blah, blah, blah, were getting me down. I knew, I think we all did, that once it kicked off, we'd love it.
Sure, there were a few hiccups along the way - the empty seats for one - but we worked through the bad times.
What we've been left with, the memories, the happy times, the soundtrack to the games, has been out of this world.
If it had not been for Team GB putting in a record-breaking performance it might have been different.
Regardless, my love affair with London 2012 has been an intensely, fulfilling, leg-shaker of an experience.
So when it all moves on, when people on tube trains aren't as friendly, when the Royal family aren't pictured snogging in public, and when I can't sit up until 2am watching minority sports, I'll be sad. I may, in moments of quiet reflection, even shed a tear.
It's because this time I've fallen for the real thing. Nothing else can ever compare to London 2012's perfection.
And for that reason I'm going make another wild claim: I will never watch the Olympics ever again.
Rio, you've got a long way to go to win my affection - but I'm happy to be proved completely wrong.