Look in the mir­ror to get a look at the real bot­tom feeder

Winnipeg Free Press - Section G - - ENTERTAINMENT - MAU­REEN SCURFIELD

DEAR MISS LONELYHEARTS: I was flirt­ing with this cute guy on­line, who said he wanted to “walk or run over” to meet me right away. I agreed to meet him at a busy lit­tle dog park near my place. He said it would take 3040 min­utes to get there. I won­dered if he was such a loser he didn’t even have any money for a bus ticket. I went to the park re­luc­tantly.

He was al­ready sit­ting there wait­ing for me, lightly sweat­ing, drop-dead gor­geous and very sexy. He was wear­ing a black tank top and shorts and ex­pen­sive run­ners and said he runs marathons. I told him my mis­giv­ings about meet­ing him, like he prob­a­bly had no money to take a bus, and that I thought he wouldn’t be so hot-look­ing. It turns out he has a bet­ter job than me and a nicer car. He stood up and said, “Looks and money, eh? That’s what it’s all about? You aren’t the kind of per­son I want to spend time with. Good­bye.” Then he ran off in the op­po­site di­rec­tion. What’s his big prob­lem? Where’s his sense of hu­mour? That night he blocked me on Plenty of Fish. — Tired of Bot­tom Feed­ers, Win­nipeg

Dear Tired of Bot­tom Feed­ers: Who acted like the bot­tom feeder here? You judged him on the money you thought he did or did not have, and then you were crass enough to tell him. You let him know you were do­ing him a big favour by even show­ing up and that you in­stantly changed your opin­ion of him when you found out he had a big job, a nice car and a great body. No won­der he ran!

Dear Miss Lonelyhearts: I just got home from a two-week hol­i­day with my hus­band and I can’t stand the sight of him. I cer­tainly don’t want to make a baby with him, which is what he wants. “Could have a bun in the oven al­ready,” is what he re­marked to his best friend when we were on the way home from the air­port. My God!

While we were in Cuba, he kept count of how many times we did “it” by day and week in a lit­tle book that turned out to have a code for dif­fer­ent sex­ual ac­tiv­i­ties and times over the last two years. I asked him about it, in a sweet voice (a trap). He cal­cu­lated we’re down on “sex events” 50 per cent on week­days when we work as com­pared to week­ends, and up 150 per cent on week­ends when we’re on hol­i­day with noth­ing to do. What an id­iot! I couldn’t stand the thought of him keep­ing ac­counts of our sex life to­gether, so I threw the book in the garbage barrel and burned it. No more sex. I just hate him right now. — Dis­gusted to the Max, St. James

Dear Dis­gusted: Many cou­ples come home from a hol­i­day hat­ing the sight of each other — 14 days of 24/7 to­geth­er­ness is too much for most peo­ple. Give this sex is­sue a few weeks of rest. If you’re still dis­gusted be­yond be­lief, see a coun­sel­lor and talk about it. Then in­vite your hus­band. Let him know you can’t stand be­ing mar­ried to a “sex ac­coun­tant” and you will never take an­other two-week hol­i­day alone with him. Then it’s his turn to vent. He’ll have a few things to say about 14 days trapped in “par­adise” with you, too.

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