Today’s Fun Friday challenge is to write dating profiles for your exes. Heck, you might have a head start on this if you stumbled across their actual profiles already. (I did, while married to him).
How was it? Well, in addition to his self-reported litany of qualities that he does not possess (honesty, faithfulness, romance), he bragged that he knew how to solve Schrodinger’s equation. (Oh, way to win the ladies…)
I sent the profile off to his OW, who apparently wasn’t very happy to receive it.
So write me a dating profile. But make it clever! Profiles just full of invective aren’t very interesting. You need telling details such as “I like to come home from a long day of work and hang my trousers on the nearest chair. I relax best in my underwear.” You know, true annoying details about them to which they are oblivious. (Narcs assume always that they are just splendid).
It’s not very meh, but who knows — maybe we could fix a few of these lovebirds up? So what if you heard yours got remarried. Hasn’t stopped them yet.
Here’s my submission:
Age: Old enough to act superior to you, but without all that annoying responsible adult behavior.
Height: As wide as I am tall.
Income: Enough about me — how much do YOU make? Any savings bonds? Trust funds? Wealthy relatives that might kick off?
Interests: Buying shit for hobbies I never have time to pursue. I’m more of a collector. Of women. LOL. No, really I’m a macho dude with a lot of interests. Hoarding is such an ugly word. I “collect” motorcycles, kayaks, canoes, cameras, computers, guns, knives, bows, arrows, hiking boots, expensive socks, burr coffee grinders, gortex rain gear, 1000 thread count sheets, and the occasional beanie baby. (Okay, I didn’t buy that, it was a gift from one of my mistresses.)
I’m a dynamic guy. I have three advanced degrees in subjects far too technical for a mere liberal arts major such as you to understand. But I like you arty chicks. The bra-lessness, the way you wear those toe rings and embroidered dresses. Like you’re all ready to sign up for Peace Corps. I just can just smell the idealism (“Tell me about your time in Sudan… no really!”), it’s a total turn on. You can afford to work at a non-profit because you’ve got some family money, don’t you?
I don’t like art galleries and shit, but I’ll go and pretend like I do, especially if we can go to Saks afterwards and look at Phillip Patek watches. Hey, I looked at your dumb art — do this for me. Might give you ideas of the sort of thing I’d like for Christmas. I once had this mean, horrible ex wife who gave me a grill brush once for my birthday — and I can see that you are the kind of discerning woman with a refined sensibility who would NEVER buy a grill brush for a man she loved.
What I’m looking for: Big boobs. Big hair. Dumb, trusting smile. Generosity. Gullibility. Instant family (you have a kid? I LOVE KIDS.) 10-20 years younger than me. If you just want to be fuckbuddies, I’m not particular. But to achieve gold Wife Status, you need to be the total package — younger, dumber, and monied.
Contact: I’ll call you. My number changes sometimes. It’s complicated. But I love you. Just the idea of you. Actual you may enrage me, but that’s later. I’ll be in touch. In fact, you might have a hard time shaking me. Stalking is an ugly word. I’m a collector….