I’M TOO OLD FOR THIS SHIT

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I’ve come to the conclusion that I repulse men. Whether it’s me being me, poor dating strategies, physical, and/or mental qualities, men want nothing to do with me. Men who lie about their height, as Date #1 did (it’s an epidemic), and become petulant little boys when the wine they order turns to vinegar and refuse to ask for another (but when I call over our server and he and the sommelier bring a fresh bottle and pour, it’s now “rather good” and the entire dinner isn’t ruined by staring at a grown man pout).

His profile photo isn’t current and for someone who states he exercises regularly, he’s as barrel-chested as Fred Flintstone. Then this physician who went to medical school (who’s actually an osteopath; why doesn’t he put “osteopath?” Is he embarrassed?) asks me where I get my protein (for Christ’s sake!). Fortunately for him I was so glad to be sitting in a lovely restaurant enjoying wonderful vegan Indian food (oh, did I mention he’s a trained French chef who hates the food at my favorite vegan joint, Great Sage, apologizing like that’s going to stop me from going, and tells the bartender where we got our cocktails some French wine is misspelled and informs me that though he was a vegetarian for three years in Thailand, American vegetarian cuisine proved so below standard he went back to eating tortured animal flesh)–no offense, Marlene; only targeted at him–I calmly inform him that a whole food, plant-based diet gives me all the protein I need. Had I not felt so charitable I would’ve crucified him with the wealth of vegan and nutritional knowledge at my disposal.

And though my date idea (that he was “intrigued with”) clearly stated strolling with enough cash to give to each homeless person we saw, only I gave them money. Then he keeps on about my job situation (“Are you between jobs?” “Have you applied for jobs?”) as if worried I’m some gold digger wanting to hook up with an osteopath (nothing against the profession, but really!). I go to great lengths to get my hair cut and colored and spend more time at Macy’s on Thursday than I have the past three years combined to find a pretty pink and white summer dress (colors attract!), sandals, a white handbag, and dangly silver earrings, and not once does he say, “You look nice.” I do.

As for the supposed second Date #1 guy? After agreeing, and pleasantly so, to have brunch at The Corcoran and exchanging email addresses, I get this (one and only) email from him @ 12:30AM that night: “Home from work and showered and off to bed and that’s it, I think.”

I’m happy to read the books you recommended to me, Michelle. They’re at my library ready to be picked up. I’m looking forward to my session with Evette next weekend. I’m happy to meet the other women come Boot Camp time, and I’m sure I’ll learn and grow. I will not, however, waste this knowledge on the male sex. And you can call off the hunt, Marlene, as sweet and generous as it is of you to offer to set me up with potential mates. I’ve had it. For five years they’ve seen nothing of value in me, and come to find, no matter the age, they offer nothing of value to my life.

I can shower the love I carry on countless humans and animals who need it more than most of the male species who think with their dicks, anyway.

On that note, I wish you both a lovely Sunday.

Peace.

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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