Monday, September 20, 2010

Break Up Letter

Dear eHarmony:

We need to talk.

I’m not ready for a commitment of this magnitude.

Six months ago, not entirely certain of the degree to which I was ready to submerge myself once again into the DC dating pool, I timidly dipped my toes back into the pond to test the waters. The time and consideration with which you professed to offer a “deep and more meaningful” online dating experience, seemed the best way to better ease myself back into the life of a single Washingtonian.

Unsure of my readiness for significant emotional involvement, I thought it best to, at the very least, stretch my dating legs lest all romantic muscles become atrophied with disuse.

I want to see other people.

You have set me up with not one, but THREE ex boyfriends. Well done, swifty. Well done.

While this detour down “Poor Decision Lane” followed by jaunt along “Regret Blvd” was diverting, I could have had a V8. 

Add to this your consistent and seemingly unrelenting parade of men who reach an average and unimpressive vertical limit at 5’9. This stature, or lack thereof, leaves them at an inconvenient eye level with my rather substantial bust line. Standing at 5’10 in my shortest pair of heels, any way you solve this equation is sure to equal distracted disaster.

I need some space.

You attract immature men boys who throw hissy fits and pouting tantrums worthy of a 2 year old deprived of his [insert popular toddler toy] on my front doorstep when I fail to invite them in at the end of an evening. My neighbors thank you for the entertaining spectacle, but I am not amused.

I’m not saying its you…but its DEFINITELY not me. 
You’ve served as a beacon to boys apparently still residing if not physically, then definitely mentally, in the frat house. In what universe did you think that the way to win this Irish girl’s heart is to pound back Guinness after Guiness until you're about as articulate as Obama without his teleprompter. In fact I can concoct no rational scenario in which I should worry about the means by which my date will get home safely. 

Please note, if a man is drinking in an attempt to get to girl drunk and trying to take advantage of her, he better make damned sure that he'll be able to drink her under the table without breaking a sweat. A drunk man is physically useless and frankly, nothing sobers me up faster or turns me off more than I man who is more intoxicated than I. Call me crazy but I like my men IN control as opposed to slurring and staggering. 

In addition, spare me the “I’m too drunk to drive, can I stay at your place until I sober up”, sob story. I'm not unsympathetic, I promise. In fact, I have two very helpful suggestions for you. Option #1: “grab a cab." Connecticut Avenue is one block that-a-way. Make like an urbanite, stick out your arm and hope for the best. Option #2: I’ll be happy to point you in the direction of the Starbucks around the corner where you can caffeinate your way back to sober.

I need to concentrate on ME.

Let’s face it, doll, I don’t think we’re compatible. I'm sure am partly to blame. After all, It takes two to tango. I have been described as too sassy, too outspoken, too sarcastic, too cynical – many qualities which might turn off a romantic suitor. 

However, I just feel that at this point in my life, I’d rather take the $29.95 I’m throwing at you every month to be fixed up with the aforementioned, sulky, vertically challenged, future AA leaders of the greater DC metropolitan area and shove it at a new pair of suede, Kelsi Dagger over-the-knee boots.

Perhaps I’ll turn to your bastard fraternity brother, for other options? Perhaps we’ll meet again someday? Perhaps fate will intervene and drop Russell Crowe on the pub stool opposite me? Who knows?

I think we’re better off being friends.


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