My fingers hover over the keyboard, spread as if they are spiders who are confused on how to make a web.
I?m
resting at the forefront of my dating regime, at a desk in my apartment
trying to think of something about me that the members of this gay
dating site need to know. Ironically this part of the initiation is the
hardest.
The
signup was easy for my adaptive computer technology that robotically
tells me everyone?s messages, height, and weight. There weren?t any
words I had to type to verify my identity, there weren?t any
advertisements sprinkled into a profile detailing a guy who likes to
pretend to fly with toy airplanes. Everything is smooth like melted
butter until this part in the acquaintance, the about me.
My
thought process seems to have a planned detour; as if my brain schemed
how it was going to depart at the exact moment I need it to work its
magic. First, dictation, then there?s deliberation, then debating, then
dumbstruck diatribe. My fingers don?t move but deductions springs into
my mind like a sweptback gymnast.
People
will marvel at my eloquence for words upon first glance so this will
whisk me up to an 80% on the attraction slider. When they talk with me
verbally however, I?m sure the stammer will jab me down to 45%.
When
people read that I have a white cane my dating chances will shoot down
to 30%. I know this figure based on experience. To boost my score
perhaps I should entice them first with facts about my journalism work
where I detail LGBT news and issues, and couple that with my obsessive
love for mint chocolate chip ice cream and pony rides. If I do that my
percentage will shoot up to 45% because everybody loves chocolate ice
cream way before mint. Read more at Roberts blog!
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