Brilliant writing. Read on!
I’m always honored when a single female friend of mine asks if I know any single men. I deeply appreciate that my many female friends trust and like me enough to think that I could match them up. But I can’t. Please stop asking. I don’t know if you’re seeking companionship or if you just miss having socks all over the floor and a stack of magazines in the bathroom. It’s not you, it’s me. I haven’t said that in years, but unlike last time when it actually meant “you smell like cat urine, your tattoos look like Rorshach tests, and you mispronounce February” this time it’s actually true.
Well, it’s not me per se. It’s who I am. I’ve been married for ten years, which means most of my male friends are married, too. Single men don’t want to be around me. I’ve been emasculated by having to go…
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