Whenever I meet a new man, I’ve noticed they always imply I’m a slut. I mean I wonder what I’ve been doing with my time, frankly.
My problem is, even when I do really like someone, they would never know it because I would rather leap off a building than say so. “So” I said, it seems that you’re very passionate about your faith. Is it important to your family that you marry a Jewish girl at all? You have plenty of time.” I love this idea and I believe it’s true. And the guy who mailed me, waited until I checked his profile, gave it five minutes, then sent me this: “I saw you looked at me. Every two minutes my iphone bings with another e-mail from Sleazebags R Us. It’s not really the story you want to tell your grandkids is it?
A few days ago a male acquaintance approached me at a bar. Just this past week she shoved the still-hot hair straighteners back in my wicker bathroom basket. As I walked out the door to meet the cab, I told the dog “look vicious”. The driver looked quite a lot like the pervert in The Lovely Bones and from the way he behaved it was clear he hadn’t experienced much human contact. Sadly she forgot her passport in the first seat pocket, only realising this in the queue at immigration. Do you remain in no-man’s land while they decide on your identity, like that weird film where Tom Hanks lives at JFK? If you’re her, you go up to the immigration desk, tell them the whole story, they laugh in your face, say, “good luck with your life, you clearly have issues” and then they let you into the country – with no form of ID. After I hung up, I resolved to find everything, from dating to decision-making, a lot funnier. I get an disproportionate kick out of knowing I have someone other women, or men, want. We humans have no control over the weather whatsoever.” I took a deep breath. I shouldn’t have brought up politics.” Yes, bringing up Al Gore was the problem.