I don't know why I bother. I craft carefully written, insightful and funny emails, then send them to women on Match.com, only to have the emails ignored. I grant that if women must only date men who have full heads of hair, then I am liable to remain single. However, since I have actually dated women, most of them attractive and at least one vaguely sane, and they were comfortable with my head's hairlessness, perhaps there is a prejudice among Match.com women, an anti-hirsute bias that should be investigated. Perhaps wearing a wig in my Match profile would at least generate a response. Of course, I can give women plenty of reasons to dislike me, once they get to know me, but ... in other words, fine, go ahead, reject me, but don't reject my words.
As my friend Eric, the genius behind the excellent golf blog The Second Golfer, suggests, perhaps Match.com is not the path that I should follow, not when
a singing yogurt girl is only a 250-yard drive away.
I watched Phil choke so hard on putts today that I suspected him of subliminally empathizing with me. Thanks for the love, Phil, but I'd rather you make the putts
... and use whichever fucking wedges you want.
I added to Exit Wound and tomorrow will hit the 200-page mark.
So I have that going for me.