I have pondered and pondered and Googled, yet I remain stupefied by the most irksome Question of the Ages: Why, Mr. Really, Really Nice Guy, do you decide to reach out to me and spill your guts to me and commiserate about life with me and give me your number and email back and forth with me and say such nice things to me and suggest that “we get together sometime,” and yet, you don’t mention that you’re married?
So, in an attempt to organize my confusion, I composed the following list of questions.
- What the hell are you thinking? Or, should I be asking, what are you not thinking?
- Do you think I’m a prostitute? Do you think I’m one of the rubbish-heap untouchables who are safe options as fodder for ennui-smothered married men?
- Are you a nymphomaniac?
- How many other fodder women have you asked out this week? This year? Since you got married? How many other fodder women are you currently seeing? How many of them do I know personally, does your wife know personally?
- At what point, if I were to hypothetically reciprocate my interest, would you plan on telling me you’re married? And when, if ever, would you tell me about the other presumed fodder women with whom you go bed-surfing?
- Does your wife know about your “hobbies?” I’m guessing you two aren’t one of those super-connected couples who answer each other’s cell phones and check text messages for one another.
- Did you zero in on me as your latest pursuit (or, one of your latest pursuits) because I’m an isolated pariah and I’m starved for the affection, for any affection, and you figure I wouldn’t be able to resist? In other words, is this a calculated amorous endeavor, you conniving, manipulative bastard?