Hi there! My name is John and I'm looking for that special phobic, obsessive-compulsive woman who has worse self-esteem issues than I do. Are you that special someone?
Never mind. You don't really want to meet me. Why should you? I'm a mess.
On the other hand, how will I know you're not a con artist or a serial killer or even a... man? Or all three? You could be anybody. I could be anybody! Actually no. I'm nobody.
I don't even know why I signed up for this dating site except that my mother wants me to get married and move out of her apartment, but who'll organize her closet if I leave?
The idea of a first date with you terrifies me. What if we decided to meet in a bar and I got lost trying to find it? What if I got stuck in traffic and had a panic attack? What if it gets cold and I forget to bring a sweater?
No, forget bars. I've already got cirrhosis because I drank a Shirley Temple when I was six. Thirteen out of fourteen of my internists say my liver is fine, but what do they know?
Meeting in a restaurant opens up a whole array of other phobias and anxieties for me. There's so much I won't allow myself to eat -- dairy (cholesterol), meat (salmonella), vegetables and fruit (pesticides) -- and restaurant managers don't like it when I ask to inspect the kitchen or when I insist on distributing surgical masks to the cooking staff. Plus, it takes too long to Lysol the men's room.
Answer me this: How do restaurant servers keep their hands clean after picking up people's dirty napkins once they're done eating? I've written sixty letters to the CDC about it but they ignore me just like everybody else.
I'd have to consult my shrink before we meet. He's very nice (unless he's just pretending) but his office is unbearable. For one thing, he has a picture of a landscape on his wall. It's always crooked. Always! He insists that it's not crooked but I know it is. He won't let me straighten it either. He probably moves it on purpose.
Do you use hand sanitizer often? That's important because, as I'm sure you know, you can't wash your hands in the ladies' room sink and then touch the door handle.
I have some hobbies you might find interesting. I collect soap from all over the world. I have a nice assemblage of non-generic medications which I keep in a glass display case in my room. The amoxicillin tablets are my favorites.
You should know this upfront -- I don't like taking romantic walks on the beach. Beach sand is crawling with staphylococcus. Also, I don't sleep well so we can't sleep together. I like sex but it's awkward when both people are wearing Hazmat suits.
There's not a lot more I can tell you because revealing information about myself on the Internet makes me nervous. Who knows who's reading this stuff? The IRS? The NSA? My boss? Plus I'm not happy about the way my life is turning out. There's really no joy in my life at all.
I guess I'm looking for the kind of woman who will find no joy in sharing my joyless life. I don't know. I have a headache. It's probably a brain tumor. I'll probably be dead before you can even send me a wink.
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