the open range

by rantywoman

Though he was ten years younger than I, everything he said he wanted in a girl was… me. I wrote a clever email about singing dogs, urging him to check out my profile and see how perfect I was for him.

“Thanks, but I don’t think so” was all he wrote in reply.

Oh! That wasn’t good. But to make sure he was really rejecting me- me?? Really??– I wrote again. “Are you sure? Aren’t you blowing me off kind of quick?”

“No, I am not interested, and if you are so thin-skinned, you shouldn’t be on Match.com,” he replied.

Almost in tears, I had to admit that “thin-skinned” was right. One month on Match and I was practically cellophane. Any free-range Internet dickhead who took it into his head had the power to make me feel worthless. No more Dogsong for me. I went to a Leonard Cohen concert with one of my girlfriends and cried my eyes out on every song.

–Marion Winik, Highs in the Low Fifties, p. 53

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