Hmm?
My mother endowed me with a large brain, therefore, I ought to do something with it, out of respect for her.
All kidding aside, I sure could use a guideline to follow to attract something other than Mutual Admiration Society responses to my witty banter. The very serious question is this: am I destined to miss my match becuase I flappeth my gums?
I apologise - I'm feeling rather negative today. Sorry that I didn't invite you to the Pity Party. I actually appreciate the reply as there have been few short of, essentially, "way to go" and "best of luck." Now, if I collected these and published them . . . hmmm.
Here's the thing: in the ten intervening years, one can collect an absolute tonne of personal material. Bad choices, missed cues, enemies in the shadows, in fact, the gamut. At your non-withering age, you're at the cusp. I am jealous.
So, way to go, best of luck. You're likely simply smashing and therefore, too good for me. Find yourself a nice boy that likes Coldplay or whatever it is you youngsters listen to and enjoy. Ow, my arthritis.
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I can tell you the one thing that counts: I'm too old for you. Despite the fact I'm funny, intelligent, driven, ambitious and resourceful, you'll hate me when you're forty and I'm (blech) fifty. Trust me - you should be shopping 32 year olds - or less. This is life as I've been taught it. Brutal, honest: human.