Dear single Miami boys,
With Valentine’s Day just around the corner, I feel more lonely than usual. On normal days, I only cry right before drifting off into the dark void of sleep, but now I sob midafternoon, too, so that’s great fun. Loneliness eats my soul like one of those NYC rats munching on expensive, trashy pizza dropped from the hands of an unassuming subway rider. The dark emptiness surrounding my heart threatens to crush it with increasing strength. Happiness continues to evade my grasp, no matter how I claw at it, begging it to remain in my palm.
But, I digress.
I write to inform you all of my wish for a strong man to join me on this journey through life! I am ready for a relationship, so throw yourselves at my feet. But act with haste, for it won’t be long and another man will have snatched me up, impressed with my wit and the shape of my body: I am a gorgeous being. As for more exact physical attributes, well, boys, my beauty is blinding. In fact, it’s better that you just don’t open your eyes.
I desire a pure relationship. I think that, for the benefit of both our souls, we should remain physically separated by a minimum distance of six feet. Pretend I have COVID at all times. After four months, you are permitted to shake my hand and, if we continue our courtship through two full seasons, we may wed, and men, then you may hold my hand forever, waffle style (fingers intertwined). This is different from pancake style, which is how you hold hands during the Lord’s Prayer.
As for your offerings, I will not consider a man who lacks sufficient funds. I know my worth. $5. If you have less than $5 on your person, I regret to inform you that I can no longer encourage your affections. Furthermore, I do not dig for gold. I dig for love. So I cannot entertain the idea of marriage with men who make more money than me. I live on an RA salary.
If you find yourself interested, call my home phone.