My Dating Profile

I’m scared of everything. I don’t want to try any new things. I don’t want to meet you because I’m already picturing your back as you walk away. I don’t want to be judged by you, and you’ve already failed any conscious or unconscious tests I have for you. I don’t want to dance, have fun, or go out to eat somewhere that serves gluten, dairy, or sugar. I don’t want to do karaoke or go bowling because I have IBS and might shit my pants if I throw the ball too hard.

The truth is, I don’t even like you or people in general. Humanity has let me down, so why in the name of everything decent would I think you would be any different.

I paid the $50 gold membership fee so I could see who liked me fifteen minutes ago when I was high on caffeine and had the idea it would be nice to hug someone.

The caffeine has worn off, and now all I can think about is you hugging me and me farting.

I wish I could get my money back. I could have gotten a dozen or so Venti iced teas with that money—two days’ worth. Damn. Maybe if I write to the company and say I changed my mind…maybe there is a get your money back loop hole. It didn’t work the other three times, so I’m not sure why I think it would work now.

Thank goodness I signed up for a month instead of two or three. These guys look like they’ve never met a razor, and the ones that are clean shaven and not taking photos in their bathroom mirror with their shirts off look fake, like they are someone’s idea of who I want to date and somehow this fake person is going to try to steal all I own if I swipe right.

I feel trapped.

I need Botox.

No I don’t. That’s bullshit. Why can’t I have a forehead that looks like I’m a person with emotions and thoughts? Why do I have to look like my life has been fucking easy?

I think I’m going to get a Sharpie and write I’M A CHICKEN on my forehead and add that to my profile.

That’ll do it.