[Highlights from a piece titled “My Complete Failed Attempts At Romance”]
When I was 19, I realized I had fooled myself into thinking Stephanie and her family didn't drink alcohol when they did.
When I was 20, my brother's then-girlfriend found for me Maria, a practice date, but I was so stupid and ignorant because of my ADD that I didn't even remember the plan. Then again, she was only a practice date because she was Hispanic Catholic, and we can't marry any Catholics.
When I was 23, I thought I had a shot with Kelsey, but she then decided she was a lesbian and moved to Canada.
When I was 24, I thought I had a shot with Chelsae before she never replied to my pseudo-date invitation. Later, I realized I would've betrayed my family principles if I'd dated her because she had a complicated floral tattoo on her neck's back, conveniently concealed by her hair.
Also when I was 24, I tried online dating and thought I had a shot with a cheerful, perfectly curvy, redheaded, God-fearing aspiring writer until I realized she had probably found a match three weeks earlier.
So, my single watchers: if you think you're struggling to get a love life, you haven't seen my own struggles.
Perhaps Mom was right: the best option is to move to the Southern U.S. and find one of an infinite supply of matchmakers at a church whose wisdom and male mind-reading skills could have me walking down the aisle in a month.