As I've alluded to in past blogs, my single, dating life was abysmal.
I had less chance of success than the ISIS barber shop down the street "taking a little off the top, please."
The girls I met all had the same excuse. "You're not my type." If I was paranoid, I would conclude that they all somehow colluded in rejecting me. BUT I'M NOT PARANOID ABOUT GIRLS THAT ARE AGAINST ME!
I looked for all kinds of situations in which to meet my match.
One time I met a girl while designing a newsletter for a big client. She said I'm not her typeface.
I went to the blood bank beside Pierre Trudeau's office and asked a girl, "Hey, I'm a bleeding heart Liberal, would you go out with me?" "Sorry, not my blood type."
On a date one time, I treated a girl to all the timbits she could eat, and she said, "Um, you're just not my type two diabetes."
I met a really cute girl at an audition, and she said, "You're not my typecasting."
I wrote a sweet love letter to a girl and misspelled "love" as "live". "I live you." "Nope. You're not my typo."
I tried playing romantic music. "You're not my stereotype."
I gave out phone number after phone number. "You're not my teletype."
I used every excuse in the book.
During a really bad rain storm, I told a girl it was flooding and she better hop in my boat. "You're not my archetype."
My twin brother below, the same genotype as me, never had that problem.